Dreams Of Blue Skies
by BunniGirl
Summary: Helga snaps after she sees various things in her life go wrong, grades, family, friends, and her love. She sees the only way out after one night. Will someone save her before it was too late?
1. Liquid Courage

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold! characters/ideas. I claim credit for the writing below however. Please be cautioned that this is rated T for a reason for the "some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes." Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with adult themes such as suicide and mild non-explicit sexuality. If you are not the recommended age limit for this rating, please read at your own risk.

* * *

**Dreams of Blue Skies**

**Chapter One**

**Liquid Courage**

I don't think I'll miss my mom & dad,

The class I cut,

All the friends I never had.

These things I won't miss,

Won't miss me.

-"A Quitter" Rasputina

* * *

**I**

Smoke filtered out of her nostrils as if it were her soul trying to escape from her. She nodded her head lightly to the beat in her head, trying to let everyone see that nothing effected Helga Geraldine Pataki - and nothing ever would.

Suddenly she started coughing and the more experienced smokers around her regarded her with cool humor. "Shut it," she muttered, delivering death glares.

Truth was, Helga didn't like cigarettes. They burned her lungs. They smelled, made her teeth look bad, and gave her the most horrendous breath problem. They made her throat hurt, and worse, when she ran during her P.E. class, she wheezed.

But rumor was they gave you cancer, and what Helga needed fast was a disease. Even after a year of on and off smoking, she still hadn't really learned how to really smoke. Discarding the harmful stick and stomping it promptly with her boot, she moved away from the crowd to gain some solace. It was a slow death, but Helga wasn't in a rush. She could learn how to breathe with these cancer sticks, learn to die too. She could be patient, contrary to popular opinion.

With a confident stride, she walked to her next class, self-consciously tugging at her long sleeves to cover up her arms.

"There goes the love of my life," muttered one boy who slumped against the wall, smiling at his joke. She looked over her shoulder, giving him the evil eye and the bird, and merely shut the door loudly after her.

_I don't want to live anymore_, she thought dejectedly, propping her feet on the table as she looked out the window at the quad. So many people were laughing and talking to one another. And here she was, cooped up in a classroom on the days she didn't smoke. It was like she was forgotten, disappeared from their minds... like she never existed except in a vague childhood nightmare.

And even then?

She scoffed, rolling her eyes, going back to her black notebook._ Whatever._ It didn't matter.

So what if she didn't have friends.

So what if she was forgotten?

Big deal.

But her hands quivered as she turned the pages, and there were unmistakable tears at the corners of her eyes. It was a strange feeling... being left behind in the past by everyone. She couldn't catch up for the life of her to all of them, of those people down there so wrapped up in the wonderfulness of their lives. And here she was, in her putrid stinking hellhole of one.

She didn't stand a chance. She didn't belong. She never belonged. Helga bit her lip and took out a pen, drawing a dagger with blood droplets coming down from the point. Why did she even bother waking up in the morning?

Instead of answering that question, she turned up the volume of her headphones, almost to eardrum splitting records. _Give me the pain_, she thought, _and I'll be happy for once._

"I'm home, Miriam! Bob!" she put her keys on the small hallway table. She didn't really expect a response by now. _Like they care_, she thought. She knew Big Bob was either working, or in his study trying to avoid his wife, the mess she was. And Miriam was slumped over the kitchen table, snoring most days by the time she got out of school.

Helga wrinkled her nose at the smoothie and sighed, pouring it down the drain. She shuffled into the cabinet and poured herself a shot of Daniels. If her mom was awake, she'd have a fit. Well, half a fit as much a drunk person could pitch in any case. She rolled her eyes and took it down her throat, making a face at its bitterness. She couldn't believe Miriam liked this shit, but then again, there were a lot of things adults did that she still didn't understand.

Grabbing her bag, and a beer out of the fridge, she went up to her room, making sure to shut it.

Loudly.

She gave a grim smile.

_If that doesn't wake up Miriam, then she's dead_, she thought. Good riddance, too. One less family member that pretends everything is okay. She laid down on the bed, and began to drink. She looked at the beer and thought, _What if I got those sleeping pills in the cabinet? Would they notice if I was gone for the next few days?_

No. They'd never notice. Probably months before they'd even look in her room. All they'd find is the bloated decomposed body and go, "Nope, she's not in here either!" She sighed. When did she get so depressing?

She reached down in her trench coat pocket and pulled out the only reminder of a good world to keep living for: Arnold. Sweet Arnold. She touched his young face with her finger. Why did everything have to go so wrong?

Everyday she told herself, "This is the day. This is the day I tell him, the day my life turns around for the better. The day where it won't end in complete crap."

And then every night she'd tell herself, "Tomorrow. Tomorrow is the day. Today wasn't because..." and she'd make excuses. So many excuses. He was busy. She was busy. Things like that. She'd even make up excuses so that way, it wasn't like she had to actually do it. She was afraid of the moment. What if he said no? What if... what if... what if. It haunted her, these 'if's. They told her so much uncertainty is out there, that how could you ever hope of him accepting your love? How can he, after everything you put him through? He doesn't even know who you are by now.

They had stopped really talking when they got in the last year of Junior High. Even though they still went to the same high school, they were obviously in different social circles. He was so popular, so beautiful that he was practically unattainable. And her? She didn't even have a clique that would take her in, let alone those lowly smokers.

In fact, she didn't speak to any of the "old gang" anymore. Not that any of them wanted to be seen with her. Not Rhonda, not Harold, or Stinky, or even her own little shadow, Phoebe. She didn't blame them. She drank more from the beer, feeling a little buzzed and happier than she was before. It was funny -- wasn't alcohol a depressant? Why'd she feel so good when she drank it, why did she feel like she was going to cry tears of joy because she was forgetting?

It really did take the edge off, this elixir of death. She could see why Miriam loved it so much, why even Bob drank it sometimes. It took away those pesky memories and made everything so much better in a way. This beer, this liquid lover of hers, told her to go to sleep, to dream of happier lives to live. Don't live this life because it was a lie. Don't wake up, because it's a dream. Sleep.

She put a hand to her forehead and brushed her bangs back. She couldn't go back to school tomorrow. She couldn't go through another day of chickening out and avoiding him. Another day of pretending she belonged there, when she felt like she didn't. She missed him so tenderly that those memories she wanted to wash away were all she had of him. Even though they hadn't talked in such a long time, she knew what he was doing as he was doing it. She still kept tabs on her one sided love, always watching him. It was almost as if she was just waiting for him to come to his senses and realize who was it behind those schemes that made him so happy.

She gave a sad little laugh and drank more, wishing to forget she thought that. As if he would. How would he know who to love and who to hate unless it was told to him so bluntly in his face?

Helga gave a deep sigh and downed the rest of the bottle. Tomorrow was another day, and maybe she would get the courage to tell him. Maybe she would say, "You there! I have been in love with you for as long as I've known you. Now please be gentle with my heart despite the torture I've given you all these years. Please, please, be gentle."

Sometimes Helga thought she was so funny, that maybe there was more to this liquid courage than she gave it credit for.

But there was a stillness in her heart. She should just do it. Just get it over with; like a band-aid. Just rip her confession out of her heart. The worst her sweet Arnold could do was say no, right?

After all, she shouldn't even expect him to feel anything towards her except a vague annoyance, like she was a buzzing fly. But the more Helga thought about, the more she wanted to do it. Just to get it off her chest. Just to move on. So what if her heart could get broken in the process? The way things are, her heart, her soul already felt broken.

_This is the day_, Helga thought, her fingers clenching a note the next day. She had worked up her resolve to do this single deed, just writing out two sentences on a scrap of paper and walking the thunderous voyage to deliver it to him. After all, it was only a year before they graduated... and year, and then he was gone. Forever.

_This is it, this is it, this is it. No chickening out. None. Zippo. Zilch_. She warily looked around as she walked casually to the lockers, not wanting witnesses to catch her in her sin. She dropped a note into the vents, before casually walking away. She gave one look over her shoulder, biting her lip, unsure of what she just set into motion. There was no turning back now, she thought, and opened the doors to the quad.

**II**

"Hey, what's that?"

Arnold looked down at his feet and then bent down to pick up the wrinkled piece of paper.

"Looks like a note." His friend beside him arched his eyebrow at Arnold's nonchalance.

"Ooh, finally, my boy gets his own secret admirer," Gerald grinned, playfully hitting his friend on the shoulder with his fist. "About time. I was starting to think you made a celibacy vow, or something."

Arnold made a face and rolled his eyes. "Gerald, I date."

"Right."

"I do!"

"When was the last time you went out," he held up his hand, "let me finish. The last time you went out on a date with a girl, and at the end of it, got something out of your troubles?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that, you always end up in the friend zone with the ladies of Hillwood."

"I can't help it. None of them have what I'm looking for."

"Which is...?" Gerald drawled out as they walked together to class.

"I... don't know exactly. But I'll know it when I find it."

"Arnold, your problem is that you just don't want to be happy. Look at me, for example," Gerald paused to tie his shoe, sending a flirtatious look across the hallway to a giggling girl with her friends as they walked past. "I'm called the Hillwood Love Train," he said in a conspirator's whisper.

"Love train, huh?" Arnold deadpanned in reply. "Must be an honor."

"Oh yeah, there hasn't been a girl in these halls that I haven't nailed." Gerald looked relatively pleased with himself, missing the slight look of disappointment and vague disgust on his friend's face. Arnold shook his head. Gerald might have been content being a manwhore, but Arnold wanted more. He wanted something special, something life-altering. Something that threatened to tear him apart and put him back together again. Or maybe he was being too much of a hopeless romantic for all that.

"Right, well, I think I'll stick to my way of doing things for now, if you don't mind."

"Suit yourself, man. But if you ever want results, I can give you some tips."

"Yeah. Thanks. I guess." He looked down at the paper in his hand.

"What does it say?"

"Well, Nosy, it says 'I've always loved you. Meet me after school at your locker.'" He looked it over, trying to gain more knowledge from the pink paper. "Not signed." Typical, he always seemed to get letters like these all throughout his life. Anonymous. This one struck him as different though... 'I've always loved you.'

"Wonder who it could be," Gerald wiggled his eyebrows. "Are you going to meet her?"

Arnold hadn't thought about it until Gerald brought it up. This was a sticky situation and he knew it. Exhilarating as it was to have a secret admirer, one that claimed to have always loved him no less, it was as much terrifying when he didn't know who that someone was. Whoever it was felt it nervous about his position of accepting her love enough to hide behind anonymity, which made _him_ feel nervous. Who was she? Did he know her? He found himself looking at girls around him, trying to catch one looking at him.

And worse yet... if he didn't return the feelings, what was going to happen?

As the hours went by, his trepidation grew more. Even as he was walking down the solemn gray hall, gripping the piece of paper in his hand like a death sentence, there was a secret thrill in his heart. This was adventure, however minor. This was excitement. He was walking into a virtual love trap, into a spider's nest, but he couldn't care less. He had to know who it was.

He stopped when he saw a girl there at his locker, anxiously looking around for him. "Lila?"

She looked pleased to see him, relieved even. "Arnold!"

It made sense immediately to him, and he unconsciously tucked the note into his pocket. "Hey." He walked up to her, feeling a bit surreal. All this time, it was Lila? How could he have not known? How had the signs slipped by him? He felt so dense, and yet... so enlightened at this new revelation.

"I wanted to talk to you," she said, smiling brightly at him. "We haven't seen each other in a while and I wanted to catch up."

"Catch up." Was this girl code or something? Where was Gerald where he needed him? Arnold arched his eyebrows. Okay, he'd play along. Obviously Lila didn't want to be totally forward with him, hence the anonymous note.

"Yeah," she looked perplexed. "Why, Arnold I'm ever so certain you look as if you've seen a ghost!"

"What?" he snapped back to attention. "No! No! It's, uh... I'm just surprised at all. No, wait, not surprised." He cursed himself for the bad wording. "I just... didn't expect it."

"You... didn't expect me want to talk to you?"

"No! I mean to say is, I'm glad." Glad? He wanted to kill himself for not being better with words like Gerald was. He stumbled with his thick tongue, "I wanted to talk to you too."

His words were an instant magic. She looked happy, her eyes brightening. "You did? Here I thought you forgot about little ole me."

"Ha! Never, Lila," he gave an easy smile, relaxing. "Not you."

Lila blushed under his appreciative gaze. She looked at him under her lashes and realized how long it had been since she really looked at Arnold. He was so much taller than when she first met him when she moved to the big city. He practically towered over her now, and he had grown into his looks. His skin was so much more tan, making it a nice golden healthy hue, and his eyes... his eyes burned into her for some reason.

She shivered, captivated like never before. There was an odd warmth to her cheeks, and she was unaccustomed to feeling so lightheaded around Arnold.

"Are you cold?" he said, concerned at her shudder. He took off his own jacket putting it around her. Lila's heart gave a jolt at the touch, and she nodded mutely, not even trying to find words to express how she felt at the moment.

Arnold smiled with affection at her, his hand moving from her covered shoulder to her face, grazing it with his fingers slightly. Suddenly, he felt an impulse to lean in.

**III**

As Helga turned the corner, she stopped in shock, instantly ducking back behind the corner. There were no students around save for the ones she was watching. Emotions swirled in her soul as she watched the scene before her, her heart beating in her chest like a wild animal's.

Arnold was kissing Lila at his locker. She had his Letterman's jacket on, and they were embracing in a very intimate way. Her heart wrenched as she dug her nails into the palm of her hand, drawing blood. She didn't notice. With her eyes glued to the scene, she took in what was happening... and realized what _wasn't_ going to happen. Without another notice, she turned away, consumed by heartbreak, determined to leave while she had a shard of dignity not to cry at school.

When she got home, she didn't bother to announce her arrival. She heard Miriam's snoring, and Bob's laughter, but it was like it was all background noise. She almost went into the kitchen for her ritual drink and changed her mind, going upstairs. Still in shock, she lightly closed the door and sat on her bed, trying to think _how_ this could happen. She told Lila. She told her how she felt about Arnold... and Lila had agreed to stay away. But that was years ago. Obviously there were people who forgot promises.

Why did she wait so long? Helga almost let out a laugh. And today, she actually was going to do it. She was actually going to tell him today._ I guess now he'll never know_, she thought. She brought a shaky hand to her trench coat, dipping into the pockets. She felt the locket and almost brought it out, then she changed her mind and grabbed the cigarettes and lighter on the desk. She didn't want to look at his face right now. It'd only remind her.

As she was lighting up, she gave it more thought, painful as it was. It was probably for the best. She would've just made him miserable, just like how she drove her parents to be miserable... just like everyone else she knew. Just coming in contact with her made lives shit. Look at Arnold... when had her presence ever made her happy? They fought more than agreed... and that was her fault.

She gave a shaky puff, willing herself not to cough. There were tears still in her eyes, tears that still waited for permission to be shed. _God dammit_, she thought, putting her forehead into her hand. Her life was too much of a mess to be dealt with. The one thing she had going for herself wasn't really hers to begin with. It had never been hers. **HE** had never been hers.

When the cigarette neared the end, she didn't bother looking for an ashtray and pressed the butt against her skin. She winced, but sighed when she compared the itching pain of the burn to seeing Arnold and that girl. She preferred the cigarette by a large margin.

She grabbed her headphones and put them gracefully over her ears, selecting a rather dark tune. Just like before when she observed the quad a day prior, she turned up the volume too loud, but she didn't mind the pain echoing in her ears. It didn't beat the pain in her heart.

He didn't even want to wait for her, she realized. He brought someone else there to let her know he wasn't interested in anyone else's love, just his and Lila's. She hugged herself, rolling on her side. The weight of the locket was in her trench coat, underneath her. But she ignored its cries for release, focusing on her own pain. She felt vibrations in the house and knew Miriam had roused from her slumber and was now half-heartedly cooking dinner. Bob was still in his den watching T.V., not minding his desolate housewife's going-ons. Against Helga's will, a single tear came out. And then another. And then another.

So. **This** was what it felt like to lose all hope.

It didn't feel nice.

She covered her face with her hands and sobbed wretchedly, feeling like such a disappointment for crying. She broke down. Hell, she _was_ broken for all she cared. She blearily looked at the white ceiling, as if to tell God that he won his sick little game: she lost, she didn't want to play anymore. _It's not fun when you only lose_, she thought. What was the point of life if this is what it was like? What was the point? What was the point in living?

She clutched a pillow to her, wanting to feel an embrace. No matter how hard she squeezed, it still felt like a pillow and not Arnold. Its plush comfort mocked her desire and she bit her lip, her whole body shaking as she became wracked with sobs. God, even thinking his name hurt her body. She closed her eyes, giving out another sob. _Arnold, Arnold, Arnold. Why? _But she knew this was coming. She knew for a long time ever since Lila came into the picture. She couldn't hold a candle to that girl; she never could. And deep down, Helga knew Arnold deserved someone just like her... someone compassionate, someone beautiful... someone that matched him in every respect.

Not like her. She felt dirty and used, so below him in every respect. He probably didn't even remember her name. Her lips quivered with a cry and she bit the pillow, trying to make the tears stop, make this feeling stop. But it was no good -- once the floodgates had opened, there was no turning back, and her tears had started an onslaught that would last the rest of the night. Still, his name was on her lips, and she begged for the pain to stop. It was like her heart was literally ripped out and she was choking, absolutely _choking_ on the lack of love in her veins. Or maybe it was too much love, too much heart ache that made her feel this way.

Crazed with her love withdrawal, she got up from the bed and tore off her jacket, stifled by it. She stumbled towards the closet, still sobbing. She ripped apart her books, tore pages out, and destroyed all of her once-beloved memorabilia of him. Everything. She pounded on the floor, still crying, her chests heaving by the sheer emotion and power of her rejected affections. Why now? Why did he have to be so cruel? He didn't even hear her out... he just... made it so apparent he had no need for her. Why did she ever think it could work in the first place? Him? Love HER? Even if he could muster not to choke on his own bile in disgust at the thought, he would've just laughed at her, just like they all did at her. He wasn't the same Arnold she fell in love with all those years ago. He was a different person, this Arnold.

And he would've laughed so bitterly, so cruelly at her if she had exposed that love to him. He would take her broken heart, tape it together with his false niceties, and the clutch it in his vice like grip, until it bled and oozed and_ wept _to be let free. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe she could try to find a way to live without him.

But to live without him wasn't possible.

She had spent all of her life building up to this moment... she had been working towards failure. How could she be sane and still come to terms to all that wasted time, wasted on someone that hated her so much? So much to break her heart in the worst way possible? She leaned against the doorway, trying to catch her breath. Her eyes stung and felt sore, her cheeks wet and itchy. Her throat gurgled with sorrow every time she remembered, every time she thought about it.

Her hands went to her hair and she tore out the bow, that bow that symbolized her love for the unlovable, the unattainable. It went in the ruined pile of all the things she used to treasure.

She hit herself on the head. "Stupid!" She did it again. "God dammit, you're so stupid!" She smacked herself, her hands twitching to hurt something, anything. She felt so angry, so consumed by her loss. She wanted to throttle Arnold for what he did to her, wanted to kill Lila for her betrayal, wanted to say fuck you all to everyone who had left her.

But instead, she languished there on the floor in her closet, just wanting it all to be taken back. Whatever hell she had before, it was nothing compared to this one. Now she lived in a hopeless, loveless sham of a life. And if that was a life, did she want it anymore?

She got up, swaying a bit on her feet. She felt lightheaded and thin, her head pounding from the unexpected headrush of crying for the first time in years. She kept a hand on the wall to balance herself as she walked out of the closet, out of her room, and down the hallway to the bathroom. She bent over the sink, turning on the faucet, splashing water on her face. She moaned, looking up at the mirror, wincing. God, she looked so ugly. Her face was twice the size it was normally, totally red and puffy. No wonder he picked the prettiest girl at school instead of her. She sniffed back the snot that was threatening to drizzle down, rubbing at her nose.

She reached into the cabinet for a decongestant when her father's shaving razor fell out, clattering into the sink. The water still flowed on top of it. Helga stared down at it, tears still working their way down her cheeks. Her hand shook as she hesitantly touched the razor before getting a grip on it. She looked back at her own reflection. It seemed like a while went by before she decided to do something that would change the situation from hopeless to drastic. With one shaky motion, she pressed the razor to her wrist, pausing. She almost didn't go through with it, but there was a sound that surprised her in the plumbing, and she gasped, slicing into her skin slightly.

Blood flowed instantly, her skin parting like she was cutting into butter with a hot knife. It wasn't a lot of blood, but it was enough to drip into the sink, mixing in with the flowing water. Helga looked at the cut, enraptured by the experience. Her heart thumped in her chest as she looked at her father's razor and her arms.

It was a sign. It was like God was telling her to do it. He gave her the tools, now she should just do it.

But before she could do anything more, she heard Miriam call her name down the steps. Startled, she instantly put the razor underneath the water, rinsed the blood off, and grabbed kleenex to blot on the bleeding. "What?" she yelled back, trying to desperately cover up what she did.

"DINNER!"

"Just a sec!" She scrambled, wiping away the blood, engrossed at how beautiful the red looked against the pristine white. She touched the still wet kleenex with barely concealed anticipation and with regret, put away the razor, biting her lip. She went into her room and put on a long sleeved sweater, rushing downstairs. Just as expected, her parents didn't comment on her attire, nor her red face. Somewhat disappointed but not surprised, she picked at her food, thinking about her experience.

Suicide.

It felt... _comforting_. The thought that she could just wipe out her own pain, her own hellish existence, on her own terms. It felt almost like she was doing a favor to the rest of the world. She'd always thought about it, but not seriously... not when she had Ar-.. She stopped before she thought of his name. But she didn't have him anymore, did she? Helga picked more at her mashed potatoes, become aware of her parents talking but she didn't join the conversation. Not that they noticed. She realized that she could be free. She didn't have to wait for him to come around... she didn't have to sit here at the table, pretending to be part of this family that didn't want her. She didn't have to go back to school every day, or wake up every morning, trying not to think about the day she was going to have.

It was a nice thought.

"Helga? You okay?"

She looked up from a dish and smiled at her mom, feeling genuinely happy for the first time that day. "Yeah, mom. Never better."

Miriam smiled back, taken aback by being called 'mom.' "Okay, Helga," she said, and continued to eat, unaware of why her daughter was in such a good mood. Her father, on the other hand, frowned, eating his food. He looked at his daughter carefully before shrugging. What did he care?

**IV**

"Nice job," Mr. Ralph smiled as he went down the rows, passing out past English exams. "Good job, Sid. Tutoring paid off, huh?"

"Hell, yes, sir." Everyone laughed, shuffling in their seats excitedly as they waited for the bell to ring. They began to discuss their scores collectively, comparing each other's work, and complaining their dislikes and likes of the class so far.

Mr. Ralph rolled his eyes at the boy's reply and continued to walk down the rows. "Good job, good job..." He paused at one student's desk and dropped down the exam, tapping on the sheet. "See me after class, Ms. Pataki."

"Oooh," the rest of the class said, some laughing a bit. The girl at the desk didn't pay them any mind, but merely gave a small smirk, as if this attention didn't bother her in the least. A boy in the corner frowned, looking back at her, before slinging his back over his shoulder.

The bell rang and he left along with the others, pausing to give one last look at Helga who was busy writing in her black journal, scribbling some notes. He sighed, and looked at his watch. He was going to be late for his date if he stuck behind now, but he couldn't bring himself to walk away from her. A part of him wanted to talk to her because deep down, he knew something was off. It was like he could smell the change in her. Another part said, "Are you crazy? All she'll do is call you Football-Head and tell you to shove off. It's none of your business anyway." And it wasn't really. They hadn't spoken in years, and he doubted she still considered him a friend. More like an old acquaintance now. If he butted his head in now, he could regret it and come out with a black eye or worse. He absentmindedly covered his crotch, groaning in imaginary pain. He shook himself out of it. He had to go. Lila was waiting. That was enough to get him walking.

Still... he paused, tempted to look at Helga again. In his gut, he knew if he walked away now, he'd regret it. Big time. He sighed, thinking, _why me?_ Just as he was about to turn around, a hand clasped his shoulder. He looked down and it was Lila. He grinned. "Hey, wasn't I supposed to meet you?"

"Yeah, but I thought it'd be ever so nice to pick you up," she said, shyly holding his hand. He blushed and looked away, back at Helga. Only she wasn't there anymore. She was at the front, in a hushed conversation with Mr. Ralph. It didn't look like he was happy with the results the way his hands became animated. Helga was still, almost disinterested in even talking. It was entirely one-sided conversation. She looked over her shoulder and saw him, tensing immediately.

Uncomfortable, he guided Lila out of the classroom, unnerved by the look in her eyes. Even on his date with Lila, Helga's face kept flashing in his mind... that **look.** He couldn't make sense of it, the way she had looked at him. He shivered at the memory of its intensity, the sheer power her blue eyes had when they zoomed in on him. He felt... **guilty**. _But for what? What did I do?_ he thought. _Those eyes_, he thought absently as he kissed Lila good night and walked home in the dark, wishing it was the cold that really made him shudder. Those eyes blamed him for something.

If he didn't know better, he could've sworn she looked betrayed or something.

**V**

Helga crumbled up the test, throwing it on the ground beside her. She walked, chugging on a cigarette. She had gotten the hang of it now and nearly laughed. Of course she would learn just when she decided to off herself. Wow, she thought, widening her eyes. So I'm really going to do it. Struck by how solemn this moment was, a smile twitched at her lips. There was something so ironic about it all... she could've done this years ago and spared herself this huge waste of time.

But there was that nagging feeling in her chest. Arnold. When she turned around and he was there, just looking at her, she didn't know what to think. Then she saw Lila there, hanging on his arm. Then she understood. Arnold was taunting her with his new prize. She clenched her fists just thinking about it. How dare he look that way, looking like he wanted to fix her world, mocking her pain? She hated Arnold. She hated him so much. She sucked on the cigarette, coughing a bit when she swallowed the smoke by accident. She closed her eyes, trying to control her emotions. There were tears in her eyes and she gritted her teeth, willing her reaction away. She wouldn't be so shaken like a leaf in the wind by him.

She felt so angry though. So, so angry. The way he looked at her, and then just walking away with Lila. How could he do that to her? Didn't he know how torn up she got whenever he looked at her with any inclination that he knew who she was? She looked at the cloudy blue sky, trying to find a message from God. Maybe she was wrong to do what she wanted to do. Maybe, it was all just a misunderstanding.

The clouds didn't spell out Arnold like they used to. She didn't see his face smiling down at her.

Suddenly she bumped into something. She groaned. Knowing her luck, it was going to be Arnold and... _her_. She bit her lip, taking a hold of the cigarette and looked. "Oh, it's just you, Phoebe." She didn't know if she should feel disappointed that it wasn't Arnold, and then decided that anything, anyone was better than having to see him again today.

"Oh, hi, Helga," the other girl said a bit lamely. A few moments of cool silence between them. "How are you?"

"Just peachy keen," Helga bit, unable to believe she was having this conversation. A year. They haven't talked in a year. This was going to be awkward. Phoebe tittered nervously, coughing slightly at the smoke.

"So you haven't quit smoking, huh?"

"No, I'm afraid I'm rather attached to it now."

"You do know it's bad for you, right?"

"No!" Helga attempted to look scandalized. "Really? I had no idea." She deadpanned, flicking the ash off her cigarette. A look of annoyance flashed across the other girl's face before it became controlled into calmness. "Thanks for the information, Pheebs."

Phoebe was quiet again, looking closely at Helga, as if there was something different in her air. She shook her head, clutching her purse off the ground. "It was nice bumping into you." She didn't pay any mind to her former friend's scoff. "So... I'll see you around?"

"I guess." Helga brushed by the girl, ignoring how much it hurt to even be in this situation. So friendless that even her one true friend left her. Ha! Boy, was she pathetic. Couldn't even keep one friend, she thought glumly, unaware Phoebe was looking at her as she walked away. Phoebe put a hand on her throat and coughed a bit, frowning as her former best friend stalked away. "Helga," she said softly, "what happened to you?"

Feeling a sense of dread in the near future, she shivered, and continued on with her walk, feeling like something was not right... and wouldn't be right for a long time.

**VI**

That night she had a dream. It was a dream she had many times before, but could never remember what it was. At the same time, this dream was new... so much more different than any others before it. So angry, so used up, so violated. Later in her life, she would still remember with crystal clarity what happened in this dream, until the day she died.

Helga opened her eyes to see gray clouds. She roused off the hard and cold ground, putting a hand to the side of her head, rubbing it. It felt itchy. She looked at her surroundings, wondering how she got in the countryside. There were rolling hills, fields of grains, dead flowers.

Everything was gray, however. Poisoned by the lack of color variety, as if she had been sucked into the 1950s. The grass, which was hard and stiff, broke under her feet as she walked unsteadily, so unsure of this world.

The breeze felt cold, and the house was tall. There was something so eerily familiar about the whole thing.

How long has it been since she dreamed of blue skies, soft green grass, and a colorful rainbow over a house with a white picket fence? Probably never.. it was something Helga couldn't imagine anymore. Everything was now monotone to her. All dead and lifeless. How soon she would become like that.. very soon.

Walking towards the house with a blank expression, she looked around. The flowers were wilted and shriveled up, all black with nothingness, and the trees were dead and dry. Everything was. The house was a light blatant tone of gray as it had a disheveled appearance. The windows were broken and through the dirty appearance of them she could see the curtains were torn and worn with age. It was a simple two story house, with a dull white picket fence around the property.

The mailbox was black and rusty, with the words "Pataki" scratched on it. Helga knew it was her house, out here in the middle of nowhere. The middle of this long deceased world. Making her way to the door, which she found was hanging crookedly on one hinge, she stepped in. _What happened here?_

Inside it looked just like her home in Hillwood, except that everything was torn and broken, either by purpose or by neglect. There was peeling wallpaper and broken windows, and the stairway had sunken in partially. The wood was rotting away, half-eaten by termites. And it was cold. So, so much colder than outside. Helga breathed out, a cloud forming in the air around her. She shivered, putting her hands in her pockets. Glass was everywhere, and crunched under Helga's shoes. Furniture was torn apart and tossed around as if a struggle happened here. Even specks of dried blood were on the grey walls. Dim lighting from outside was the only thing that enabled Helga to see what else was there. Continuing on, she stopped when she heard a creaking noise.

Helga turned to her left and went to the doorway of the living room. Instead of encountering walls of trophies and her father's favorite recliner, she saw a grey-haired woman in torn grey rags, she could only assume was once a dress. This woman without purpose moved rhythmically in her rocking chair. Her face was expressionless, eyes vacant as she stared ahead at nothing. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair until they were bone white. She was almost a skeleton, the way that her loose skin hung on her gaunt bones. Just looking at her made Helga feel wretched and doomed. The room was bare and the curtains were torn. The piano was overturned and destroyed, and there were pictures littered all over the floor, all of them blacked out.

Then the woman noticed Helga there watching her, and peered at her curiously before realizing who she was.

"What do you want?" The old woman snarled as she stopped rocking. Helga paused, not knowing if it was wise to answer. She stepped closer, a feeling of panic gripping her. Where was everyone?

"Stay away," the old woman said. She was holding her chest, heaving with more emotion than thought possible. "Stay where you are!" The woman's shriek surprised her and she backed out of the room, afraid to disobey her.

Helga turned away and walked on, feeling a surging pain in her chest. That old woman was so familiar for some reason. Hesitantly, she went into the kitchen, drawn to a noise. It was crying, only it was soft and light. Helga ran to it, feeling desperate but not knowing why. There was hardly any light, and whatever light there was, was flickering on and off. The kitchen looked totally demolished; the fridge and table were on their sides and there were numerous unwashed dishes in the sink. It smelled like it was suffocating and she held her throat, struggling to breathe. Determined but still shaky, she made her way, stepping on broken pieces of dishes and glass. Behind the overturned table, she saw a little girl in a dirty pink overalls. The little girl had light blonde hair and an oversized bow, and was crying on the floor, clutching the green umbrella for dear life. "Mommy," she said, crying more into her hands. She had scratches on her face, and bruises everywhere else.

Helga gasped, taking an involuntary step back from shock. The child seemed to have heard Helga and looked at her with wide eyes, backing away, frightened. Helga softened and leaned forward. "Hey, it's okay. It's only me."

"Who-who ar' you?" The small girl said, slightly hiccuping. She still held onto the umbrella, as if afraid that this person would take it away. "Ar' you hwere to save me?"

"Save you?"

The girl nodded, allowing herself to feel a bit of hope. "What happened here?" The girl's eyes darkened and she sat down again, rocking back and forth. She still held the umbrella. "I don't know... the last thing I 'member is a boy gave me an umbrella because it wuz raining but he's gone and I don't know where I am. I'm scawed."

Helga felt tears leave her eyes as she shook her head. "It's not possible. This is too weird. This can't be happening." She backed away, looking one last time at the girl, feeling guilty for leaving her there.

The girl watched her leave, and then continued to cry, realizing this stranger wasn't going to help her. "Mommy," she cried hopelessly, curling up into a little ball.

Helga stepped out of the kitchen, shivering. It was colder now. Was she trapped here too? There was a noise upstairs and against her better judgment, she climbed up the precarious steps, mindful of the rot. She slipped once, holding onto the railing for her life. She reached the top floor, looking around. _What next?_ she thought. What could be worse than that mess downstairs? The hallway seemed to worse. The ruined curtains at the window blew in the wind, as if trying to wave her to leave. She shivered in the coldness of it all, wanting to wake up and get out of there. Then she felt someone take ahold of her arm. Turning sharply, Helga met with herself. The younger her of nine years old. She had rings under her eyes, and her hair was let down, the bow partially ripped off. There were cuts around her skin. Her wrists looked bruised as if she had been tied up.

"Hey," The younger Helga said softly, "Are you lost too?" She looked a bit nervous and fidgeted. Helga took a step back. "You could say that," she replied. This other Helga looked dejected. "Oh. I thought you could help. You... haven't seen anyone else, have you? Someone with a football shaped head?" The younger her looked at Helga's face. "No?" She sighed, looking defeated. "I thought not." Then she went to the window and looked out, as if this person was on the horizon somewhere. Just as Helga took a step towards this girl, she found herself in the field again.

"Hello." A voice came from behind her. Again she turned around quickly. Only to be met with herself. Blue eyes stared equally at her with the same intense gaze. This other her had her hair back in a loose tendrils. She looked very tired, as if she had been awake for all of her life. She wasn't as gray as this world, or the others, but she wasn't a vibrant color either. Everything about her seemed... muted. "This is a surprise, seeing you under these circumstances."

"Back at you," Helga replied to her look-alike, feeling weird at meeting her mirror image. The world around them was still, and the other people were gone. She wanted to leave this place as soon as she could. "How do I get out of here?" Growing more cold, she rubbed her arms. Her lips felt like they were turning the blue.

The look-alike frowned then smiled softly. "Funny. I was just about to ask you the same thing."

Helga became angry quickly at the quizzical reply. She put her arms down, blinking. The gray seemed to spread to her skin, beginning to erase her creamy pigmentation. Especially around her wrists. "What kind of bullshit answer is that?"

"Only you can help yourself, Helga." Her other self sighed. "At least, that's what they told me."

"You _are _me."

The look-alike didn't seemed fazed by Helga's comment, instead she just softly tsked. "Good point." She bent down to pick up a dead flower and crushed it with her grip. She looked at Helga this time with barely concealed disappointment. "Helga, you know the solution; just figure it out already."

Before she could question her again, she disappeared. And with that, everything was gone instantly, leaving Helga in a place of darkness. The wind still howled it's cold breath around her.

She was alone.

Then she cried, put her head in her knees, and cried. She was alone.

Alone. _Alone._ _**Alone.**_

That word seemed to echo around her like a cruel joke. "Please," she begged, "I want to wake up." Please, she thought, and closed her eyes tightly.

With a start, she opened her eyes again, this time in her bed. She breathed heavily, and then looked at her skin. It was the normal color. She sagged in relief, not knowing why she was so scared in her dream. She grimaced at the memory of those... those half alive people. All of them barely aware of themselves, all of them seeming to be scared or her, or worse... wanting help. She didn't know what to do. _Christ, what a dream._ She almost got up to go to the bathroom for her ritual cut, but stayed in her bed, scared. The dream had shaken her more than she cared to admit and she looked on her night-stand, peeking into the drawer.

The gun was still there, hanging out with the golden bullets she pilfered earlier from the attic. She gave a small smile despite the dream. Dying by slitting your wrists was painful yet slow. But it was such an anonymous, passive way of going out in the world. No, she wanted to leave now. She wanted to send a message of her unhappiness so that it would echo 'round the world. They would be so sorry, if they did happen to care, to see her go. _Or_, she thought, _be so happy. _

Happy to see her gone.

Getting up and going to her desk, she took out her stationary. It was time to let go.

_It was funny_, Helga thought as she walked on the sidewalk, caring precarious packages in her satchel. These people, three weeks ago might have never pegged her for suicidal. _Or maybe they did_, she thought. But now she felt a sense of morbid relief coming for her. _I don't have to live anymore_, Helga thought. _I don't have to live anymore_. It was a statement that made her so sad... and so happy. Helga stopped, going into her satchel and took out four envelopes, dropping them without much ceremony into the mailbox. With each letter, she seemed to give a little gasp once it hit the bottom of the mailbox, each with its own unique little thud. Finally, she paused with one, caressing it ever so slightly. She knew that from the first envelope on, she'd have to go on with it now. But this one, this envelope she held so tenderly... she looked at the address and blinked back tears. "Arnold," she said, and opened the mailbox to let it slide in. She tried to let it go, but it seemed to be cemented in her grip. She wanted to let go. She didn't want to think of what Arnold would do once he got the letter, what he would say, what he would _think_. A big part of Helga thought that he would do nothing... and that's what frightened her the most. That he would wearily drop the letter in the trash and go on with his life, less encumbered than he originally was. And she would die, forgotten, her whole life wasted.

She dropped it, tears of hatred going down her face. Her fists clenched and shook with unsuppressed emotion. How dare he forget about her, she thought, and walked away angrily from the mailbox. She stopped, her shoulders slumping. Then again, how could he not forget about her? She never did create much of an impression with anyone, the way she made life so difficult for them all. They'd be glad to forget her. Arnold especially. With the tenderness of earlier, she looked at the mailbox and then gave a small, grave little smile. Yeah. She was doing them a favor.

**VII**

Still unable to shake off the feeling that something was wrong with Helga, but unable to bring himself to talk to her yet, Arnold turned to Phoebe. He found the small girl chatting with a few friends in the hallway at lunch and approached her. Her friends, realizing something was unusual, left, leaving the extremely shy girl alone with one of the most popular guys in school. Blushing, she rolled her eyes at them and looked at Arnold. "Hey," she said, smiling. "It's been a long time, Arnold."

"Yeah, too long," he smiled back, wishing they hadn't grown apart all these years. The old PS 118 gang, going their own ways, separated from each other in their own cliques. Only Arnold remained somewhat in touch with most of them. Turning to Phoebe, who watched her best friend with sad eyes, he had to find out what was happening with Helga. Even though they weren't what people call "best buddies" he thought of her as a friend at least.

"What's wrong with her, Phoebe?" He asked.

She sighed, clearly frustrated. "I don't know what you want me to tell you, Arnold. Helga and I..." she paused, waiting for students to pass by. She leaned in and whispered, "We had a sort of... falling out. A year ago."

"Really?" Arnold said, looking shocked.

"Yeah," Phoebe said, biting her lip harder. "We had this fight. It was... stupid." She shook her head, adjusting her glasses. "She took up smoking and, I don't know. I tried to get her to quit." It was one of the first assertive acts that Phoebe attempted, one of the many ways she tried to save her friend from herself. "She told me to fuck off." She neglected to tell the other part of why Helga was so upset with Phoebe. She had tried to encourage the girl to confess her love to Arnold, believing that she shouldn't have to through her high school career still covering that infatuation. Helga had responded by pushing Phoebe, screaming that she didn't know what she was talking about.

"That sounds like Helga." Amused as Arnold was, he knew something was really serious if Phoebe and Helga weren't even friends anymore. "Have you seen her recently?"

Roused from her reminiscing, Phoebe nodded. "As a matter of fact, yes. I, uh, bumped into her a few days ago."

"What happened?"

Phoebe played with her glasses like she did when she was nervous. When she first saw Arnold coming up to her, her heart surged thinking that he was an intermediate for Gerald. She thought that he was going to ask her out, or at least test out the waters to see how she felt. But it became apparent that he obviously didn't think about her (at least in that way), and she forced herself not to be disappointed. When Arnold revealed the subject was about Helga, she didn't know whether to be relieved or suspicious. After all this time, Arnold of all people was asking about Helga. It did raise certain thoughts. But she heard that Arnold was with Lila now... and that would explain Helga's chilly attitude towards her. "We barely talked. She seemed..." Phoebe tried to grasp a cordial word for her behavior, "-fine."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Phoebe lied. What did Arnold care anyway? Last she checked, Helga was still upset that the love of her life didn't even know she existed. For all she knew, Helga confessed her love to Arnold and was rejected. _That_ would definitely explain her friend's erratic behavior. The last thing she was going to do was make it easy for Arnold to accidentally hurt her friend more. Despite the differences between friends, she still cared for Helga so much.

"Oh," Arnold said, not knowing what to think. He could've sworn she was upset... but upset over what? "I thought... I guess it's nothing. I just didn't see her in class yesterday." He looked at her evenly. "So you have no idea what's going on with her?"

Phoebe shook her head, "I don't know. Even if I tried to talk to her, it'd be weird. We haven't spoken in over a year. And last time we did talk, she didn't seem pretty chatty to me." She leaned in, to add in a conspirator's whisper, "Why are you so concerned?"

"It's... complicated," he sighed, running his hand through his hair. It really wasn't though. He was concerned. What was so complicated about that? Phoebe arched her eyebrow at him.

"Complicated?"

"Yeah, don't ask. I just have this feeling something's not right. I want to talk to her, but then again..." _What right did I have to talk to her? _he thought. _She's the one who went out of touch, not me_. But Arnold knew that he didn't try his best to keep a hold of her, secretly glad to be rid of his biggest critic and worst bully.

Phoebe looked at him carefully before she sighed. She put a hand on his shoulder, hesitant of touching someone else. "Look, if you wanted to talk to her, it probably wouldn't hurt. Despite what you may think about Helga... she'd listen to you. You're probably the only person she'd listen to, actually." Then she shut her mouth, realizing she said too much. "Listen, Arnold, I've actually got to go. I promised Nadine I'd have this article finished by the end of fifth period." She paused. "If you do find out what's bothering her, you'll tell me, right?"

"Yeah," he smiled at the gentle girl. "I will. Thanks for your help, Phoebe."

"No problem. I hope you find what you're looking for." And left with that cryptic comment, scurrying down the hall to escape further questioning.

"Me too." Arnold let out frustrated sigh. He let his hand scratch his head as he stared at the lockers, preoccupied with his thoughts of Helga to even pay attention to Phoebe's comment. Walking towards his Guidance class, he couldn't help but wonder what could have happened that could have brought this change to her. Just as he made his mind up to talk to her, he realized she wasn't in his class for the second day in a row.

**VIII**

A day went by, and Arnold still felt something was wrong. As much as he tried pushing it aside, he couldn't help but think he should be doing something. But what? He went downstairs to the dining room, and looked down at the mail on the table. His grandma, older than ever yet still as crazy, greeted him with a wave of her spatula, "Morning, Kimba!"

He smiled absently. "Morning, Grandma.." He yawned looking down at the mail. His grandpa and the others were still asleep, he noticed as he looked around the room. Though, it wasn't unusual for the boarders to sleep in on Saturdays. He started to walk to the kitchen when his grandmother called out, "Oh, Arnold... you've got a letter from the president's wife."

"President's wife?"

"Eleanor."

"Ooh, Eleanor," he said, nodding his head. Humoring his grandmother, he picked up the stack. Looking through it, he passed through the names quickly: mail for Mr. Hyunh, Potts, bill, junk mail, bill, a letter from Helga, letter for Mrs. Kokoshka, bill-... his heart stopped and he went back through the pile and he took out Helga's letter. It was a small, delicate looking pink envelope. Thin but sturdy. He held it, and with much hesitation he opened it, and quietly read it.

**Dear Arnold:****Hey, Football-head. Remember me? Helga? Probably not. We have English together -- it's probably one of the few things we've got in common these days. I know we haven't spoken in, well... forever, now that I really think about it, but... If you haven't noticed me, then please don't bother reading this. I don't even know why I'm writing you after all this time. But there's something in my heart, something I need to let go before I die.**

**Arnold, I've known you ever since pre-school, ever since elementary, all the way through now. Remember P.S. 118? Remember how I called you football-head so many times? All those times I was mean to you, told you I hated you? I didn't mean it. I'm so sorry for lying to you all these years... but now, I just want to say what I couldn't that other day. I love you. I've always loved, ever snce the day we met. I don't care if you think I'm lying again, if you think it's a joke. It's not to me. There are no words to say how deeply I feel for you... and I only want your happiness. Except, I just don't feel like there's room for me in that big heart of yours. **

**I really do love you. It was stupid of me to think you could ever feel that way about me. You wouldn't believe how many times I'd tell myself that I was going to tell you, only to just... have it backfire in both our faces. It's funny, you know. I think I should thank you. After all these years, you're so kind to me, you've made me realize that there is no place for me in this cruel world. I was going to tell you my feelings for you, in person instead of this damn letter. I finally worked up the courage after all these years being afraid. I was going to tell you, after school that one day. **

**But I saw you were kissing Lila. I knew what that meant. I know you care for her, Arnold. You've always did, ever since P.S. 118. I don't blame you. I blame myself. Even if I had told you days before, it wouldn't have mattered. You and her, maybe it was always meant to be. And who am I to stand in the way of destiny?**

**By the time you read this letter, I'll be dead. I'm sorry I have to do this, Arnold... but I just can't deal with it. I'm not so strong anymore... maybe, I never was strong to begin with. I don't want to wake up everyday, feeling the way I do about it all. Don't worry about me, Arnold. You'll be happy with Lila. I know it. Even though I loved you, I want you to be happy. I just couldn't take the pain anymore. Nobody loved me. Not my parents, maybe not even Phoebe. Even little ole Phoebe doesn't have that much love to fill the hole in my heart. **

**I know you care for people, so when you read this letter, please don't come and see what happened to me. I only sent you this letter as my last goodbye. Think of it as the kiss we'll never get to share.**

Arnold threw the letter to the ground as he ran out of the house, going in the direction of Helga's home. He didn't read the last few sentences of the letter, wrinkled and wet with emotion:

**I'll miss you...**

**Love forever yours,**

**Helga G. Pataki.**

**IX**

Helga pulled out chosen outfit out of the closet. She stared at the spot where her shrine used to be. The bare spot where it was before made her space look stark naked and ashamed. Growling low, she shut the door angrily and went to her vanity. She carefully put on her make-up, down to the red lipstick on her mouth. She dressed in a beautiful black dress, still raggedy compared to anything her sister or mother would wear. Despite this, she knew it was her best clothes. They didn't even have to pick a dress out for her funeral; she was wearing it. She wanted to look good when she was dead, as impossible as that would be. Little point in it, considering how she was going to blow out her brains out anyway. Then she looked at the gun. She remembered where she found it.

Six years ago she was looking for something aimless, she couldn't even remember what it was. It could've been anything. But what she did find was something unexpected: her father's forgotten gun. The fool didn't believe in gun safety apparently - a good thing for Helga now, apparently. She rolled the golden bullets in her hands, absently thinking that she should write a thank you letter for Bob. After all, it was his foolhardiness that provided the supplies for her... freedom. She walked up to the roof, sighing when she felt the cool breeze hit her. Whatever this feeling was, be is absolution or resolution, it felt nice coupled with the autumn breeze.

She looked at the city below her then to the blue skies above. Yes, this would be the perfect place. On the roof. She stood in the middle and took out a book from her bag.

_"When you held her,_

_Kissed her_

_Loved her_

_You allowed me to see the truth_

_That I was nothing_

_Compared to her_

_Try as I might_

_In my heart of darkness_

_I knew the truth_

_I closed my eyes_

_And made this plan that day_

_I walked away._

_Hopeless, lifeless, and with despair_

_I am a void of feeling_

_With no love to spare_

_I had a dream once,_

_With your soft name in it_

_But I have awaken_

_I had the courage_

_It was taken_

_I had the love_..."

Helga stopped suddenly, eerily suspicious someone was watching her. She looked around and saw no one. She didn't sigh out of frustration or disappointment. Why would anyone watch her, after all this while? Why would anyone care? Even if anyone got the letter by now, it was too late. She was going to die. Determined, she continued:

_"I had the love, that sweet, sweet hope_

_But that I have since learned_

_It was all just a joke._

_Why did I love so much_

_To come to this._

_My only hope gone,_

_Gone with that kiss._

_Without this hope_

_Without my love_

_Why bother, then,_

_Trying to go on?_

_I suffered too much_

_Much too much_

_Now, it is time to let go_

_It is time to say good bye_

_To all I that I know_

_In this accursed time_

_Please, death, take my company_

_Please, fashion me a black dress_

_Please, take me_

_Let your sadness caress_

_Sow this seed for harvest_

_Let me right this wrong_

_I can't believe I cared for you_

_To resort to this..."_

Helga paused her poem, to open her satchel, blinking back the hot, stinging tears. She gasped, trying to focus, and she took out the gun. She put the bullets in, not wanting to take the chance of a Russian Roulette. When she looked at the rest of her poem, her hands quivered with the emotion she felt.

_"After all I have done_

_Is it so wrong.._._"_

She hated herself. She made this all happen. It was her fault, and only her fault. She broke down, sobbing, and fell on her knees. She fumbled with the gun, until she heard the revolver click. Resolved, she drew in one last breath as she finished her poem. She put the gun to the side of her head, her hands shaking with fear.

_"Is it so wrong, my love, _

_to wish _

_to take it away with one single kiss."_

She pulled the trigger and heard the revolver fired. In her last thoughts, she smiled. In a microsecond, she thought of Arnold, and her heart pulled as it beat. Then she knew nothing but that darkness she longed for.

**X**

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Note: this is revised from the original work. In the original, there's less build up and more flashbacks. I made this more linear and fluid. This chapter was revised to give more background to lead up to her suicide attempt, along with the poem too. The original work is saved on my computer, so don't worry. When I get my website up, I'll post the original and the revision side by side. New readers, don't worry, you're not missing anything spectacular. Just a fourteen year old's drafts. (PS, I'm 21 now, so there's a BIG difference in my writing now.)

Another note: Helga's confession on the FTI building never happened in this timeline.

A lot of people might think that Helga is too strong to attempt suicide, or even think about it... but when you think about it, she says repeatedly over the series that he's basically the only reason she hasn't gone insane from her terrible life. And if you put it to the max (she has no friends, no familial concern, etc.) then what does she got to live for?

Think about it! :) **Please review.**


	2. The Blame Game

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold! characters/ideas. I claim credit for the writing below however. Please be cautioned that this chapter is rated T for a reason for the "some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes." Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with adult themes such as suicide and mild non-explicit sexuality. If you are not the recommended age limit for this rating, please read at your own risk.

* * *

**Dreams of Blue Skies**

**Chapter Two**

**The Blame Game**

You asleep at my side

Going in and out of the headlights

Could I have saved you?

Would that've betrayed you?

You alone with those pills

What you couldn't do I will

I forgive you

I'll forgive you

-"For Blue Skies" Stray Don't Sleep

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**I**

Who can we blame when things go wrong?

Who can we turn to to unload our guilt?

What can take away this feeling of helplessness?

What can rid us of this anger that threatens to consume us?

So many questions. So many answers.

Fathers. Mothers. Sisters. Brothers.

Teachers. Nurses. Doctors.

The Media.

The Home.

Ex's, morally bankrupt divorcees, lonely ghosts of our pasts...

But the truth is, when we blame those close to us... those that are in power, those who we perceive to have the control, we're missing the point.

We should just be blaming... ourselves.

**II**

Hospitals.

They are chilling places when you really think about it. So cold. So sterile. So artificial. The symbol of dependence and weakness. They are the home to people you fear: doctors who give you bad news, who pump you with long needles and hoses, sadistically only for their own purposes. It is the stuff of nightmares when you really think about it.

And yet, they are a natural part of our lives: birth, sickness, death. We base so many of our fictional journeys around this sort of location, because it's a pivotal sort of dramatic action. The mother who just gave birth to a daughter. The father who died of a heart attack. The sister who survived cancer, again. The separation, the reunion, the love, the hate, the sadness, the happiness, the relief... All in every level of a hospital, all 24/7 without stop. And all, in their own lives, all encased in the moment like snow globes or pictures in a frame, telling a story.

There is one room in which there is a story yet to be told: There was a solemn beep in this dark room. Even with two people there, light was not a necessity. A girl is in the bed, hooked to cables and wires, a bandage around her head. She is breathing, very lightly. Every now and then her hand twitches, as if trying to grip something or clench her fists (a common thing for her). Her blond hair is matted and partially shaved on one side. On the table next to the bed were a few of her effects, as well as a "GET-WELL" card and a few flowers.

Next to her is a boy in a chair. He is not family. He is awake, just staring at her in the dark. A part of him wants the lights on, but another part doesn't want to risk waking her and having to leave her so soon. So he waits in the dark. He waits until she wakes up on his own... hoping that she wakes on her own, like the strong person she is.

And another part desperately hoping that when she does wake... she doesn't throw him out of the room. That is because he felt it was his fault she was there in the first place.

"Oh Helga," he said putting his head in his hands. "What have I done?"

**III**

It was an odd silence in this world, compared to the last one she left. You would think that the living world was quiet, but there are so many sounds: birds, cars, planes... even the wind made a hushing noise as it blew by. But this one was just as dead as she expected it to be.

Helga hadn't expected to be back here, in this familiar world of hers. In front of her was her house, that same cold, beat-up house, with the same dead appearances as last time she had encountered it.

She looked up to see those chilling gray skies which were covered by troubled and stormy clouds. The soundless wind that blew against her body was colder than she last remembered, and she shivered.

"Welcome back." A familiar voice came from behind her. Helga turned around quickly, still shivering from the intense cold, and met herself again. This dream twin of hers was in the field, digging holes. She was dirty, and looked sad. On the ground half buried in a pile of dirt was a gray bow. Helga brought her eyes to her twin's and realized just how empty they were, how hopeless they seemed. Suddenly it wasn't the cold atmosphere that made her shiver, but the sight in front of her.

"...Why am I back here? Aren't I dead?"And then she realized that this was her hell. She was doomed to be here for an eternity, facing her past selves for all of their anguish and grief that she failed to solve in some way.

Her counterpart shook her head, and gave a sad smile. "No, this isn't your hell. As much as you wanted to die, someone saved you instead. You should be glad they were there in time."

Helga frowned, and shook her head. "No.. no, I'm not. I wanted to die. Don't you see? I _didn't_ want to live anymore." She clenched her fists, feeling angry.

"All I see is the selfishness in your heart."

"Selfishness?"

"Yes, selfishness."

Helga whirled around, feeling ready to beat some sense into, well, herself. "Do you even know what it's like for me out there? Do you even get what I've been through?"

Her twin made a scoffing sound, rolling her eyes, and went back to digging. Helga narrowed her eyes. Some other self this one was. _What was she, a flippin' gardener?_

"Who saved me?"

The digging paused. Her twin smiled lightly, but there was no warmth in her eyes. "How should I know? You saw your savior's face. You tell me."

Helga growled deep in her throat, and glared at her annoying look alike.. "No. I don't remember who saved me.. and frankly when I find out, I will kill that person, and then..." she paused, gulping, "-kill myself!" But she wasn't so sure about that. Not anymore. It had taken up so much resolve to do it the first time around, and look where that got her: arguing with herself. Again. She rolled her eyes at the situation. Plus, if she was alive... that would mean hell to pay when she did wake up. God, she sent out those letters too. She could just imagine all the sort of jokes and teasing they'd do at school about her failed suicide attempt. And Arnold... what would he think? She held her breath thinking about it, not sure what to expect: would he be so angry? Would he just not care? She didn't know which scenario hurt more: his absolute indifference or his absolute abhorrence? She pulled on her pigtails, tormented by it all. "I didn't want to live, damn it! Why does God have to punish me by doing this?!"

Her counterpart sighed softly, and looked away to the skies. She was silent for some time, and Helga watched her carefully. She finally spoke.

"Did you know that those same skies used to be cloudless and blue? Ah, yes, don't look so confused. They were blue once .. oh, they were blue like our eyes .. so like our eyes, and the grass was like _his _eyes. That beautiful green jelly-bean color." She sighed as she stared up above her and then looked down at the brittle lifeless glass, her gaze becoming hard as if she was reminded suddenly of a cold and bitter truth. She picked up her shovel and started to dig another hole next to the one she completed.

"W-what does he have to do with anything? Last time I checked he didn't care." Just the memory of it hurt. She clenched her eyes shut, trying to shut out the image of him, so happy with Lila. Happy without her, without mean old Helga around. She bit her lip to keep from crying and glared at her dream counterpart. "He was too busy sucking on that bitch's face!"she said, feeling bitter as she remembered he was the reason this whole mess started. But was he? He wasn't totally the reason, she reflected, and she hated putting it all on him. But what was her life without him, after all, but just this void?

As if answering Helga's thoughts, her twin answered quaintly as if her guest wasn't rude to her at all. "_He_ has everything to do with this." Her twin paused from her digging again, looking a bit annoyed with Helga. "Don't you see, Helga? He's the reason why this place has become like, as you said earlier, Hell. Without him, what point is there in upkeeping this once-paradise? Why bother even hoping anymore?"

Her twin looked away. The shovel in her hand shook slightly in her grip. In a broken voice, she continued, "Haven't you noticed your... our past selves living in that house? Do you know how much they scream at night when you are awake?" Her look-alike pointed to the battered house. Almost instantly, Helga heard their suffering and screaming. They cried to be let out, that they were lost. Most of all, what they begged for was him... Arnold. Helga didn't even notice the wet trails down her cheeks drip to the grass, or the slight green that flourished there after the tears touched the ground.

"You were lost once in that house once, you know. You don't remember it, but I saved you. I risked my life to go in and drag you out. And how do you repay my kindness? By killing yourself?" Her twin turned her back on Helga, as if disgusted by the sight of her. "You have the best of all the worlds... you have the freedom to make things right. For all of us. All of this could fixed in seconds if you just realize why you are here."

"What? What do I have to do? C-can you help me?"

"Only you can help yourself."

Helga resisted slapping her forehead in exasperation. "Do we have to go through this yet again?"

"Yes. I've already told you: that's all I'm allowed to tell you."

Helga growled again, deep in her throat. "I don't care about what stupid nonsense has to be inside my head! I just want to get away from this nightmare! I just want to escape pain! ... escape _him_.. I just want to run away.." She sobbed a little, letting herself fall on her knees onto the hard, jagged gray grass.

Her other self seemed to soften at this expression of suffering, as if on some level feeling it with Helga. She kneeled down gracefully and put her hand on the girl's shoulder. The grass beneath them had become soft from Helga's tears and the dream twin noticed, smiling. Maybe hope wasn't all gone after all. "Helga, Helga... shh.." She held the girl, letting her sob more. "All is not lost, child. All can be restored."

"H-h-how?"

"All I can say is this: I am you. You are me. This place is ours. It is both our responsibility to take care of it. Because only one of us failed, the other's accomplishments amount ot nothing. This place was once a haven for both of us, you know, though you may not remember it." Her look-alike let go of Helga and got up, walking away. "All of this was once a paradise. There were gardens here... and our past selves, while still locked in the house over there, were peaceful. All wasn't as hopeless as it was before." Her look-alike said, as she strolled along the gray field, watching the sky wistfully. Helga let a few confused sobs get past her as she stared. She didn't understand.

As if sensing Helga's thoughts, her counterpart answered, "And I don't expect you to understand, Helga. It is a bit hard to settle in, to have this new information take its place, but you need to understand. God loves you. You have a bigger role than you allow yourself to think. One death is not one death, but other deaths as well." She paused. "And.." Her look-alike hesitated and nibbled at her lip. "I care too. We are one. Seperate but equal. I only talk in silly riddles, because you are so blunt. I am so open, whilst you are closed. We are opposites, clearly. I agree to disagree. We are the same. I am yourself, only the one that is hidden and shown but few times. Other times I want and desire to be let out, but I have been patient for all of this time. I spent most of my time here," She gestured the wilted surroundings around her. "I didn't mind spending my time here. It was peaceful. It reminded me of him. It also gave me hope that one day both of us would be combined, that your bitterness would finally be washed away. That was until.. until the day it began to look like Death."

"Why? Why does it look so..." Was all Helga could bring herself to say. Her pool of tears subsided into the ground, and a fresh and soft green acted as a matteress for Helga. She didn't seem to notice.

A small smile played at her look-alike's lips, as she gazed at Helga. "You know the answer. Figure it out."

Before Helga could argue, she found herself in the darkness yet again, and couldn't help but cry more. There she was again. Not dead. Worse. Now everyone knew she tried to do suicide, and probably stop her at every chance.

Somehow she felt comforted. She didn't know why, or how, but she felt as if she wasn't alone anymore, not like last time. The wind was no longer as cold and was slightly warmer, almost as if someone's breath was on her. Helga closed her eyes and let herself cry on the floor, her sobs quieter than before.

All she could think then was .... _Arnold_.

**IV**

Helga hesitantly opened her eyes to meet a blinding white light. _Ugh ... where am I? Am I still in that blasted place? _She thought, a little dazed. Then she remembered: The gun. The shot. Arnold.. Lila..

_No! Why? Why did someone have to save me?_ She sobbed silently. She felt something against her cheek wipe her tears away. _Wait... _As Helga's teary eyes got adjusted to the light to reveal a hospital room. She felt someone hold her hand. _Who is this?_

"Where am I?" She murmured her thoughts outloud. She heard a relieved sigh from beside her. Helga turned and was slightly surprised, taken aback from the person's appearance there.

"You! But I thought-" A finger brought to her lips, silencing her. Helga became confused as the person before her sat back in the chair next to her. What? Why was that person there?

"I know what you're thinking.. and first off, I'm glad you're okay. Dammit, I'm more than glad! Helga, what the hell were you thinking?!" Her savior bluntly yelled at her.

Helga bit her lip, looking ashamed, but still not entirely regretting her decision. The only thing she regretted was not pulling the trigger sooner. _Why did I wait to read that fucking poem? _Helga thought a little angry. Her and drama. Geez

"Don't you look away either. Helga. Look at me." Her savior demanded. Helga looked hesitantly into those eyes that seemed so familiar to her.

"What?"

"Listen.. Like I said before, I'm glad you're okay. You-you don't know what you mean to me! If you died.. I-I don't know what I'd do!" There were tears on her blanket, and her hero gasped for breath between the cries. Helga's eyes widened. She had no idea that she would be so missed, especially coming from this person.

"I.."

"Helga. Stop. If you EVER pull a stunt like that, ever again, I'll make sure to follow right after you."

Helga sat, numb with shock. Here was her savior ... of all people to rescue her, and now that person was promising to take their own life if Helga did? Helga felt her eyes slightly well with tears again. _Damn myself for being so weepy.. _Helga grumbled mentally. Here was a person, one that barely knew her, but was willing to take their own life just because they couldn't stand her death.

"You're not serious.." Helga whispered, still a little dazed from shock of the confession (and promise.)

"Damn straight, I'm serious. Listen, Helga... I know you thought I didn't care, but I do. If you were to die, I'd only follow you. Wild hell dogs couldn't keep me away from you .. you're .. my friend. Even if you don't consider me a friend.. I.. I mean, I know your deepest, darkest secrets.. that has to count for something, right?"

Helga felt her eyes widened with disbelief, and unconsciously let her guard down, letting a few tears fall down. With no words, Helga nodded and hugged her savior who only hugged gently back, afraid to hurt her. "I'm sorry," she said. "I never meant to make you feel that way. I'm sorry."

"Shh," her hero patted her back, unable to belief his good fortune at being able to touch her. "It's okay, it's okay." And thought silently,_ I love you, Helga, _gripping her tighter when he thought of what life would have been like had she not been there... what life would have been like if he was two seconds too late from rescuing her.

**V**

_'And in city news, local girl Helga Pataki, daughter of famed Robert "Big Bob" Pataki of "Big Bob's Beepers" and former "It" girl of Johnny Stitches, attempted suicide by a firearm early Saturday morning. Her condition at Hillwood Presbyterian is stable and it's not decided if local police will press child endangerment charges against the Pataki family. In other news-'_

The blond anchorwoman's words had no sound anymore. The brown and aged TV set was suddenly turned to MUTE, by a short pudgy boy (no, a _man_) holding a remote control. He sat down in the waiting room with several others, all in the same deep solemn silence. A row of teenagers, all around the same age, sat side by side; there were boys about to become men, and girls blossoming into womenhood. They had their differences but had come together in this time of crisis. It was perhaps the only thing that they shared in common anymore.

"I..I still can't believe that she did it." The man spoke, clearly shaken by the news.

"Believe it, Harold." A tall, thin girl, aged in her late teens, laid back in the hospital waiting room chair. She glared disdainfully at Harold, as if his comment was an indicator of who he was. Her long black hair was held back by a red scrunchie in a ponytail. Her curved, maturing body was dressed appropriately in an expensive red designer shirt and Capri jeans. Harold merely blinked and kept on staring ahead of him.

"I just can't. Stinky, can you?" Harold asked a tall boy with a beaked nose wearing his best outfit it seemed, with a few flowers in the seat next to him.

"Nah, Harold, I can't neither. It's just too dang hard to imagine big, strong Helga actually try to commit suicide. She seemed fine to me." Stinky shrugged his shoulders as he slumped in his chair, which seemed too small for his muscled and tall body.

A boy with a strangely shaped head snapped up at Stinky's last sentence. "Fine? She seemed _fine _to you?" He got up and made his way to Stinky, only held back by another boy with an afro.

"Cool it, Arnold."

"No, Gerald, I've got to set this straight. She was not _fine_, Stinky. She was far, far from it." He looked at every one of the teenagers sitting in the plastic chairs in the waiting room. "Do you know her? Did any of you even talk to her anymore?" He got his answer when no one spoke up, when no one had the courage to meet him in the eyes.

"What are you even doing here then, if you're just going to say that it was unbelievable, that she was fine?" Arnold found himself sneering, on a rage that he couldn't control. His hands shook, his body shook even with the anger he felt with himself. He was one of the people that he was scorning. "Do you know that the last day I saw her... I almost talked to her?" His voice was very quiet, almost as if it was daring someone to interrupt him.

"She was just there, sitting in her chair... Practically dead. I knew something was wrong. I knew it. And I didn't do anything," he punched the wall, trying to keep from crying. Some hero he was, he thought. What good was saving the entire world, if he couldn't even listen to his gut feeling anymore? He could have prevented it. He could have stopped it.

Gerald patted him. "Hey, man... what's done is done."

"No, he's right. We could have done something." It was a boy with a long nose at the end of the group. He put his hands to the sides of his face and shook his head. "I saw deep scratches around her wrists. One day, she just let them show. I bet she wanted someone to say something. I bet she wanted them to act like they cared. And you know what I did?" The boy gasped on his own emotion, his own guilt. The rest of the group looked pityingly at him. "And you know what I did? I did nothing!" The boy was choking on his tears by now. "I .. did ... nothing.." He cried, as he slid to the floor, letting his tears fall with him.

"Sid," Gerald said, shaking his head. "Man..."

The group silently expressed their sympathy through their eyes, silently going over the last year, particularly in the last few weeks. There were plenty of warning signs, they had admitted. And knew that they could have stopped the worst if they had realized sooner. But as a wise person once said. What is done, is done.

"We're all to blame, I guess," a boy with red frizzy hair said. "Right, Rhonda?"

The girl in designer clothing didn't comment as she did with Harold. She seemed troubled by the situation, only caring to look at the floor. She didn't like hospitals. Not since when she was a girl. "Maybe, Eugene," she finally said, not believing her words entirely but not disbelieving them either. The sterile atmosphere seemed to choke her and she wanted to get air. Only her bred-in Lloyd composure kept her still. "How's Sheena?"

Eugene looked away. "She's at home. She was hysterical. You know how she is about... violence."

They were silent again, not knowing what to say or how to continue.

A small girl, very short for her actual age, spoke up, breaking the silence. "I.. I got a letter from Helga." Reaching in her coat, she pulled out a tattered envelope with pretty red handwriting on the front. Everyone watched numbly as she showed it with a quivering hand, fighting in the tears. She had been around Helga so long, she had grown to toughen herself up. She bit her lip, her hand still shaking and she pulled it to herself to draw less notice. Thankfully, everyone attributed to nerves and... Helga.

Rhonda reached inside her purse and pulled out an exact envelope like the smaller girl's as the blond girl beside her burst into tears, watching the silent display.

"Nadine, ssh, it'll be okay," Sid sat beside her and sniffled, awkwardly comforting the girl while struggling with his own emotions. Both cried on each other's shoulders.

"I can't believe this," Nadine said. "Why would she do this?"

But they knew. Deep down, they _all_ knew. Helga hadn't been happy for a long time. Maybe it was just a natural escalation that this occurred. But no one wanted to think about that. No one wanted to consider that it was inevitable.

Harold was the next to pull out a similar envelope, holding it in the same fashion as both of them.

There were the three letters that Helga G. Pataki mailed just a few days from her fateful day which she decided to attempt suicide. They understood, preparing themselves for sharing the letters that Helga wrote to each other. But they didn't know why they had been chosen... or what morbid truths were in the letters that Helga was prepared to share from the grave.

Only Arnold turned away from the display, feeling disgust for himself. He had gotten a letter, too. It was on the floor of his room, probably crumpled up in his haste. He didn't even finish it. But what did that matter when someone's life was at stake and time was of the essence?

"I'm gonna talk to the nurse," he mumbled to Gerald, who nodded, knowing the boy wanted to speak to Helga as soon as possible.

"Good luck, man."

**VI**

Sometimes the past can creep up on us in the most unexpected ways.

There it is, with its withered hand full of memories ready to grab you by the ankles and bring you down to its level. It will hiss in a lonely voice, "Don't forget me."

Five miles away from the hospital, the past pays a visit to another person who knew Helga G. Pataki who would be startled by the news of her almost-death. Startled, but certainly not incredibly surprised. Deep down, he knew this was going to come about for a while. He had tried to prevent it the best he could, but as all things inevitable there it was, a bubble ready to burst in his face.

He is a tired and almost entirely bald man, so much older looking than the last time Helga saw him. He walked inside his home, tired from garden work. Sighing, he took the remote control into his hand and turned on the TV.

".._And in city news, local girl Helga Pataki, daughter of famed Robert "Big Bob" Pataki of "Big Bob's Beepers" and former "It" girl of Johnny Stitches, attempted suicide by a firearm early Saturday morning. Her condition_..." The blond reporter said sounding a little too perky. The bald man stopped his slicing, and thought hard. Helga? Didn't he know her from somewhere? He shook his head and listened again.

"..._at Hillwood Presbyterian is stable and it's not decided if local police will press child endangerment charges against the Pataki family. In other news, President Cli-_' The old man tuned out the rest of the report, putting a hand thoughtfully on his chin. All he could think was Helga. How had he known her? Was she a student of his? Rubbing his temples slightly, he went to the cabinets to get his medicine for his heart.

_Pataki.. Helga G. Pataki? Pataki..? Hopefully I'll remember it later.._ He thought as he gulped down his medicine and water then went back to prepare his lunch.

But it was as he sat down in his chair to take the first bite of his food that he realized who she was and what this meant. Without another word, he grabbed his coat and car keys, and slammed the door to his house.

**VII**

"What do you mean no visitors allowed? _HE _got to go in there." It took every last bit of control to control the tone of his voice when he spoke with the Head Nurse. As much guilt as he felt over not preventing the tragedy, he felt as much a desire to speak to her, to see if she was okay. And right now he was feeling very irritated that he couldn't even see when others could.

Nurse Cooper, on the other hand, didn't hide her irritation. She had been up since dawn that day, running all over the hospital. Now she just found out minutes earlier that a nurse couldn't come in because of a family emergency, so Cooper had to take it over, making it four more hours until she could rest her dogs. "Look, sir," she said evenly as she clicked her pen in annoyance. "I just told you that was a special exception. Only family allowed."

"But I was there too when the ambulance was there!"

"I'm sorry, young man. There's nothing I can do. There are regulations and-"

"That's not fair!" He slammed his fist on the counter, unable to suppress his emotions any longer. He had to see her. He just had to. It wasn't fair that _he_ got to see her instead of him. He put a hand through his hair, wringing his locks with his fingers.

Cooper narrowed her eyes. "Well, even if I could allow you in, I wouldn't."

"Why not?"

"You're too emotional. You'll just excite the poor girl. What she needs right now is peace and quiet, and you're not exactly a shining example of either." As rude as it was, he knew Cooper was right.

"You're right. I'm sorry. I'm just... I just need to see her, just to see if she's okay." He didn't add how he felt guilty that she was here... that it was probably his own fault. He put his hands by his torso, and sighed. He had been there since they got there this morning, and still hadn't had a chance to change. He was on the verge of tears every time he realized that his sticky now-red shirt was dirty with her blood, the blood that gushed like a fountain from her head- He put a hand to his face, trying to will the imagery away. God, he felt so sick when he thought of it.

Cooper's eyes softened at the apology. She saw the vivid conflict in the young man and sighed. _I am such a sucker for kids,_ she thought. After giving it a few seconds more pause, she clicked her pen a few times before speaking. "Look, I'm not supposed to tell you this but... when you calm down, if she happens to be in Room 415, don't be so surprised."

Arnold's eyes widened at the admission. "Oh thank you, thank-"

"You, uh... didn't hear it from me," she said pointedly, arching her brows as she picked up her clipboard. Before she left the desk, she whispered to Arnold, "Don't make me regret this, kid."

Arnold knew she was taking a risk in trusting him, and it made him happy. He had felt so helpless this entire time, so without a cause to just wait, and wait, that he felt he was going insane. Arnold smiled and nodded, mouthing another 'Thank you,' before running to the elevator. Cooper shook her head. Kids these days.

As he urgently pressed the button over and over, he reflected more on the situation. She had always been something to him. A bully, a friend, and now what? She was such a fixture in his life that it hadn't occurred to him that she wouldn't be there one day. But she almost wasn't there. He had let two days slip by in school, excusing her absence vaguely, even though he knew in the back of his mind something was so wrong. He felt ashamed. He felt the very antithesis of an hero at the moment. Arnold leaned against the cool metal of the elevator, wishing it would go faster. But what would he say to her when he did see her? What could he say? It was practically his fault. No, he closed his eyes and shook his head. It wasn't his fault... it wasn't anyone's fault really. But it wasn't something that could be shooed away.

What could he talk to her about now? It felt awkward to bring up the letter, and even more awkward to ask her why she had done it. He knew why she did it... and now he was unsure of whether or not he would actually be allowed to speak to her. She probably didn't even want to see his lousy face. But there he was in front of room 415. He raised his hand several times to knock on the door, before finally making contact with the solid mass. It opened and a face peeked out.

"What do you want?"

Arnold tried to ignore the other boy's tone, squishing down his own guilt. "Can I speak to her?" He looked at the boy to entreat him to allow this one request. He had to speak to Helga, even if he didn't have the words in his throat as of yet.

The boy seemed to stare at Arnold for a while before finally sighing, as if defeated. "Let me ask. Hold on." He went inside, closing the door softly. Arnold ran a hand through his hair, unbearably nervous. What if she said no, he thought. What if she said yes? Both options seemed to make him equally ill at ease. It would just be enough, he decided, just to see if she was alive and okay in person. And after a few minutes, the boy reappeared, dripping out of the room as if he were ink on piece of paper.

"She's all yours." Arnold almost did a double take at the bitter tone and shrugged it aside, slowly and hesitantly opening the door to an uncertain fate.

**VIII**

"He wants to talk to you."

"Who?"

The other person took his time responding, as if reluctant to say. "...Arnold."

Instantly Helga's eyes widened and she gripped the sheets in terror. Arnold. Her heart beat instantly, and the machine beside her alerted her hero of her plight.

"Should I say no?"

"No! I mean..." God, what did she mean? She didn't want him to see her like this, all pathetic and downtrodden with machines hooked up to her. Desperately, she wanted to take off the IVs, and jump out the window into the safety of the world. All so she could be hidden from Arnold. But she knew there was no avoiding this and resolved to regain her Pataki wits. "Give me a minute, okay?"

He nodded, not looking very pleased with her decision by standing by it all the same.

Every fear and hope she had ever felt paled to the ones she was experiencing now. Arnold wanted to see her after all... to what? To tell her off like she had just been told off? Or to sneer at her? To laugh at her incompetence? She couldn't even get dying right.

She closed her eyes, trying to focus on breathing. What if he hated her for sending that letter? What if he just came by just to say that he never felt the same... and that he was glad she was trying to get out of his life permanently?

No! No, Arnold wasn't like that. Arnold was good, and sweet... and he always believed in her, even when she didn't believe in herself. Arnold was always the optimist, always trying to get her to see the bright side of life. No matter what she had thought, Arnold was an angel, almost a literal saint for even putting up with her. She felt regret rise up in her body at how much she had hurt him back then... and felt renewed sense of purpose to make things right. Even if he did hate her, she would right the wrong eventually. At least, she thought, she hoped to.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the shiny reflection of a bedpan and groaned. _Who let them cut my hair? _She rolled her eyes at the thought. Here she was, barely alive after shooting her brains out and all she was worried about was her hair? God, she was just like Rhonda Lloyd. "Okay. I'm ready." And she thought to herself, _I hope._

**IX**

Our closest ones to blame are most often the ones we first come to love: our families.

We snap at them, ready to unleash our vengeance on our darlings because they won't leave us -- they can't. They're blood, connected by the thickest natural substance that can bind an organism to another.

But what if there was no connection save for DNA?

What if we realize... we never really know the ones that resemble us so much biologically?

It can be a frightening thought, one to send the shivers to our very souls and we become embroiled in an existential nightmare. If I didn't know this person... then do I even know myself?

Who am I?

Who am I if I didn't know that one?

If I couldn't be the one to predict all of this?

"Baby sister.." A woman in her mid-twenties with cropped short hair started sobbing hysterically. Her mascara and eye shadow ran down her creamy cheeks as she clenched her fists to her face and started bawling madly. Once a perfect perfectionist, now a turned heartbroken, grieved sister. She remembered the phone call last night and her rush to come home, almost at lightning speed. And now she was home... but it didn't feel like home now that her sister was in the hospital after trying to die by her own hand.

Another woman, with a discarded drink at her side, seemed to be in shock. Yes, there were tears welling in her eyes, but shock kept them from falling. The older woman, seemingly in her fifties, possibly early sixties, who witnessed the rescue of her second daughter after her suicide attempt, was feeling an abundance of emotions. She struggled with them under the haze of alcohol, trying to make sense of it. It couldn't be... it just couldn't be. Finally, it got done to her soul. Her daughter had attempted suicide. She sat down on the floor, curling up into a large ball and cried, letting the hot tears fall from under her glasses. Her baby girl, her youngest -- almost gone entirely from this world. She looked at the drink beside her with malice and threw it against the wall, vowing never to drink another sip of the accursed liquid if her daughter lived.

Oh, if she lived. The word 'if' made her sob all the more harder because it became clear to this mother that there was uncertainty in the future -- and that made her weep at all the missed chances she might have to make up to her most misunderstood daughter.

A man, grey hair, almost turning white, with a unibrow to match, hands gripped tightly to his favorite blue recliner. His knuckles were steadily turning white, and expression unreadable. He seemed deep in thought, almost too deep.

The family had just heard the news of the youngest member, Helga, attempting suicide.

Thoughts ran through their heads; some irrational, some confused, some sad, and some hopeful. The family had different ways of expressing grief and confusion. For the father, it was either complaining or sitting in silence, thinking of what to do next. For the mother it was making promises to herself and to God in exchange for Helga's life and well-being, as if her mental thoughts were a form of bartering system. For the sister, it was bawling her eyes out. They all had different methods, but it was considered the same on the base grounds.

The truth had stung them deep. One of their own had tried to kill themselves, and they hadn't even noticed until it was too late.

**X**

He sat down in his chair, expecting any minute now for the students to come back in, and then he remembered. It was Sunday. They wouldn't be back until tomorrow. On his crowded desk there was a placard with a name: **MR. SIMMONS**.

Mr. Simmons still taught the fourth grade. He felt made to be here, at PS 118.

With that time on his hands, he knew he should grade papers. He knew he should do something productive with his time... but, what better thing to do than to think of dreams and Ms. Helga G. Pataki?

His tired old hands, liver spotted and wrinkled beyond recognition, creaked with arthritis. Amazing how the years go by, he marveled to himself as he looked around in his file cabinet, sighing again exasperatedly. "Nathan," he said warningly to no one at the discovery that the boy had been in his drawers again. He reminded him too much of Curly. Or Harold. Or, god should he even think it... both. He relaxed his frown and laughed. But not that he minded that constant reminder - well, he rethought that... most of the time anyway.

He pulled out a yellow page and set it down on his desk, almost knowing the poem by heart. It was one assignment he never passed back and probably never intended to. "A Poem by the Pataki Girl" was the title. It was different from any of the other poems she had ever turned into him... and she probably gave it to him in a lapse of judgment. It was not a poem referring to any Green-Eyed Apollo, nor was it any other head-over-heels ode to love... but it was a terribly special poem that spoke volumes about the real Helga. But of course, he reminded himself, all of her poetry was special and unique.

**A Poem by the Pataki Girl***

I woke up

not feeling myself today.

An exploding underwater volcano

suffocating with my angry hot lava

with the rushing emotions.

I'm only that girl

that Pataki one

in the window

that no one notices.

Shunned and thrown away

like a piece of trash

a bad note

ending the song.

Forgetting I have a voice sometimes

it hurts underneath it all.

The cuts are covered by cuts

and the bleeding stops

once and for all.

I want to call out

that I do have a name

that I'm not that person

you see everyday

I'm the girl

That Pataki one

I'm wishing for

blue skies

in my dreams

Dreams to set me free

It said a lot about how she was feeling at the moment, except for that secret love for Arnold. And it was also the reason why Dr. Bliss had originally come to PS 118. He had made a special request for a child psychiatrist to be sent to the school grounds in hopes that maybe Helga would be selected to go there for professional help. Somehow he knew she wouldn't open up to him, and he didn't have the skill-set of Dr. Bliss to help her either.

Mr. Simmons remembered her talent, rapturous all over again that someone so young could have felt so much passion. It made him re-energized at school, to know that there was always one person overlooked and that person was the most special out of all. Of course, he argued to himself, they were all special. But not everyone in his classes, he admitted to himself, lhad that sort of.. emotional intelligence. That overwhelming need for love and attention. Helga held that precious spark inside of her that said she was aware of the world, and what was happening. And that worried Mr. Simmons.

The way she talked about herself as a separate person in her poem, separate from the rest. Wishing for blue skies in her dreams to "set her free." There was almost something disturbing about that imagery, especially the part "cuts are covered by cuts and the bleeding stops, once and for all." He shivered, his old bones too frail to provide a resistance against such a young girl's powerful words. He looked out the window at the empty playground, putting a finger to the dirty window. Nathan, he thought again, failed to clean it. He shook his head and looked at the swings that swayed with the wind outside.

Dreams were funny little things, he concluded. _Giving hope and maybe, perhaps_, he darkly thought,_ trapping us as well_. He shook his head and leaned back in the chair. He didn't know why he thought that - it was obviously not true. Or maybe... he found himself thinking about it again. Maybe it was.

With Helga Pataki, he wasn't quite so sure sometimes.

**XI**

"Can't you come tomorrow night, Marie?" A woman said into the phone as she tried to feed her young son. The boy blubbered and spat out the pureed carrots onto his bib. He gave a gumless grin as if he accomplished something of high standing and his mother smiled back, cleaning his face. "Simon, don't you want to eat? No, sorry, Marie, I was talking to Simon." She picked up the remote to turn down the television but stopped when she saw the headlines: **HILLWOOD TEEN ATTEMPTS SUICIDE**. How very sad, she thought, distressed. As much as she tried to help all the children that came to her, there were always a few that slipped through the cracks... a few that even she couldn't reach. She sighed and let the TV on, focusing back on her conversation, "Marie, you know how much this event means to me. You're the only one I trust with Simon. He loves you!... Yes, I know, I've tried to-"

_'And in city news, Helga Pataki-'_

Instantly the woman's head snapped up, looking at the TV. The blond anchorwoman kept reciting her perfectly words as if there was no change. The brunette mother fumbled around for the remote, unable to take her eyes off the screen.

"Hold on, Marie," she said, and turned up the volume.

"_-attempted suicide by a firearm early Saturday morning. Her condition at Hillwood Presbyterian is stable and it's not clear if local police will press child endangerment charges against the Pataki family. In other news, President Clinton has visited the Mayor-"_

"Crap," the woman mumbled, forgetting she was on the phone still. Her mouth was ajar, and her eyes slightly glazed over as she thought back to a not-so-distant past. She put her hand over her mouth, shaking her head as if saying no to an unsaid question. Suddenly she tuned in back into the present. "No, no, sorry, Marie. I just... never mind. Forget tomorrow night. I'm going to cancel it after all. What? No, just... something came up. Something big. Yes. Thank you. I'll see you soon. Bye." She put down the phone and shook her head, still shocked at what she just found out.

She had always thought Helga was a strong girl. But, as she thought earlier... there were always some that slipped through the cracks.

And Helga was one of those few.

**XII**

**

* * *

  
**

AN: This is a revised chapter of DOBS, with most of the new stuff written in January, 2010. I have the original saved on my computer which will be posted on my website TBA. Please review if you like the changes. New readers, don't worry, you're not missing anything crucial. Old readers, you'll now notice I've extended parts for players and even added a few more characters to the mix. Can anyone guess who that last person is? :)

*=I wrote this as a way to sort of indicate that Helga's always felt depressed since she was young, even to the point where she's always considered suicide to be an option (without expressly thinking about it, of course.)

On another note, if you notice the quotes I use at the beginning of the chapters are usually from songs. I recommend googling the songs and listening to them via lala or some other music medium while you read the chapter. I usually choose them to match the chapter theme or a certain feeling I want represented.

This song "For Blue Skies" is really solemn and pretty; it's about a man who reflects on his lover's death, and if he could have prevented it. He forgives her because she couldn't forgive herself.

-BG


	3. Little Bird

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold! characters/ideas. I do claim credit for the writing below, however. Please be cautioned that this chapter is rated T for a reason for the "possible strong but non-explicit adult themes, references to violence, and strong coarse language" and adult themes such as suicide and mild sexuality. If you are not the recommended age limit for this rating, please read at your own risk.

* * *

**Dreams of Blue Skies**

**Chapter Three**

**Little Bird  
**

I'm here for you to use, broken and bruised.

Do you understand?

It's only you, beautiful.

Or I don't want anyone.

If I can choose, it's only you

-"No Seatbelt" Brand New

* * *

**I**

Some heroes are unknown to us.

There they are, silent in the shadows, performing little miracles and big miracles that we'll never know happened. And if we did, we will almost certainly never credit these heroes. They're in the background, like gears in a machine, just doing what they were put on this Earth for: make things smooth flowing.

They don't desire credit. No, not truly. They do these things for the greater good. They do it for love, of all different sorts, of all different levels.

Sometimes one of these heroes do get caught and become applauded; there they are, snared in the limelight, captive of the audience. As much as they try to escape, as much as they want to shrug it off, once it is on them they cannot leave it. Or maybe it can't leave them.

An unexpected hero is a surprise and a delight, all the more frightening to the hero.

A man, spiky hair the same color as his skin, stared at the unconscious girl before him. He folded his hands in front of him, wearing a lime-green shirt and dark navy jeans. Every now and then he'd look at the blond girl, seemingly frantic but no one would never know what emotions were held in the young man's eyes that were hidden by glasses.

One would think that this were a brother, rather than a rescuer, to the beautiful girl in the bed beside him. How wrong they were.

**II**

I've watched her for many years, since we were both so young. I have even followed her, too. How many times? I can't even count; I can't even remember the exact number... but what I do know is that every time feels like the first time... and afterwards it feels like the last, until the next moment I get her alone, and she's mine.

You don't know me but I'm the one always lurking in the shadows, the one to be ignored unless I'm too loud with my breathing to give me away.

I won't deny it. I love Helga G. Pataki. I always have. Ever since I first saw her, I was smitten. No, smitten's not the right word right now, for my age. It's not even close to how I feel right now, just sitting next to her.

But that was back then... and now? Well, now I tremble at the sight of her, out of awe of her majesty and power... and the love she inspires in me brings me weak to my knees.

What may have started as a curiosity is now an obsession that I can't leave.

I'm not sure how it spiraled so out of control, this one-sided love affair of mine. But it happened... and I'm glad it happened. If I had a choice to go back and do it over, I don't think I would have done differently, save for one important thing: saving her sooner. How did this start, my angel? How did my obsession with you start all those years ago? What brought me near to you, my flame? What am I, but your dying moth, suicidal for your deadly touch?

I suppose it was her passionate and wild side that sealed my doom. If it was a simple crush then, it was cemented into love when I strove to be there for those moments when she revealed her passion to a locket everytime she ducked behind a corner, concealed herself in an alley, or beside a tree, holding her dear precious picture of her beloved. Even though I was aware the picture was not of me, even with my common sense screaming, "Brainy, give it up! You'll never be noticed in her eyes" I still did it. I still fell in love with her.

It grew slowly, this doomed love, into something deeper, something I would cherish more than my life. My obsession had forced me to take risks I never thought I would take. I just couldn't survive through one day, one single day, without hearing her rupturing voice, confessing her undying love to another. Not one day could go by without me craving her violent skin against my own. Yes, I admit that I still love her, even though she loves someone else. Even as I know she loves him, dreams of him, and did this forbidden act for him. Despite this knowledge, I love her, need her, like no other element on this plane of existence can satisfy. Only she could soothe me. That is where the irony is. I love her, she loves Arnold, Arnold loves Lila, and Lila, well, I'm not sure. It's all very sad and strange, this love rectangle.. triangle... whatever it is. But as steadfast as I am to my doom, she is as well... we are both sinking ships in our harbors with no one coming to our rescue.

I crave Helga Pataki, like I crave ice cream. Like I crave air if I was drowning. Like I crave water if I was parched.

I _crave _Helga Pataki, even though she is poison to my mind... and to my heart.

I look down at my hands, and then to hers. Her small hands, so small compared to mine. Who would've ever thought she was so delicate the way she would puff up her chest and act all brave? She had the whole world fooled... she almost had me fooled a few times. But what now, sweet angel? Where is your birdsong to sing your woes? Were you stuck in that cage called life so long that you would have rather killed yourself than beat against those bars again? Nay, I say. I want to believe it was the prince of your dreams who drove you to this bittersweet agony called despair. Were you so beyond hope that not even he shouldn't be named lost all appeal for you? Sweet siren, do not cry for him... I wish I could be more than a poor substitute to you, if only that.

I reach my hand out and hesitate, it going back into my lap. Even if she was out of this world temporarily, I couldn't bring myself to touch her. Not first. Call it force of habit, or call it respect... call it the timidity my soul cannot vanquish, even in the face of danger. But I can't do it. I can't even hold her hand. It felt... wrong.

I put my head in my hands, shaking it so. "Oh Helga... what have I done?" Was it truly my fault you were here, little bird?

Or was this just inevitable... you dying of your heartbreak and your loss of freedom, sweet bird of mine?

What have I done, Helga?

Maybe if I stopped her before this, maybe this wouldn't have all happened. Maybe she wouldn't have done this ultimate deed, and wouldn't be in the hospital bed beside me. Maybe if I had been quicker, smarter... maybe if I loved her more, I would've been there to talk sense into her. But all I was capable of was running like a coward and pushing her to prevent that gun from firing clear into her head. But what good was that? She was still hit by the bullet, even if she had survived. She was still hurt, and that was my fault... and I'll always live with that in my heart.

What good was saving someone, if you weren't there in time to prevent it from happening?

What good was loving someone... if you didn't have the courage to act upon it?

**III**

It was after-school one day several weeks ago that I first noticed something was amiss in my little starling. While she didn't quite have a hop in her step for quite a while, something had changed... as if the ground beneath where I stood shifted all of a sudden and I was caught totally unawares. She was walking from the school, such in a daze. I automatically tail her, keeping my respectful distance. Her back is rigid, almost tense with captured emotion, and I'm captivated by those rippling muscles, by the stories they are telling me (and not telling me.) Her fists are clenched, and are tight -- it's almost as if she is angry. But why? Then again, I reflect, it doesn't take too much to get her riled up.

But this time... it feels like she's truly upset, almost... _shattered_. If I knew then what I know now, I would have resolved to summon my courage and make her happy. I would have swept her up in my arms and carried her away from her unhappiness. At least, that's what I tell myself. Maybe I truly am a coward, because when she finally stopped, I dared not breath a word to her. I was frightened of that moment, when she turned around and looked me in the eyes for the first time in ages. We just stood there on the sidewalk, looking at each other. A part of me didn't even think she was fully aware of what she was doing.

Her eyes. _Little bird, your eyes._ Why were they so dead that day? Where was that perpetual song in your heart you sung no matter what? _Little bird, little bird, little bird..._

She suddenly took a step forward until we were so close... too close. I gulped, unable to take it and took a step back. She holds out her hand in the air, as if knowing that I can't get by through the day, without her abusing me. Sick, yes, perverse, of course, an obsession, definitely without a doubt.

But I loved it.

And I loved her.

With no words, she hits me gently across the cheek. Not the usual punch-Brainy-right-in-glasses. No. It was different. Almost surreal, what she did. Just a gentle, teasing slap, only enough to leave a slight red on the left side of my face. As soon as she did, she walked slowly back, almost depressingly.

_How odd.._ I think as I watch her go, before caressing the spot where she touched me. Somehow, words just were put through actions. My little bird was hurt, wounded deeply inside. Her wing was broken and she limped away, too far gone to chirp for help... and besides, if she did, who would? Would I? I'm not even sure.

She didn't even have the heart to hurt others. I touch my cheek again. Sweet songbird. What happened to your song?

I follow her, not so closely this time. I try to make sure I'm hidden from her eyes... but she knows I'm there. She has to know. I'm always there. I climb up to the fire escape and strain to hear in. I normally wouldn't encroach on her privacy, but the way she just hit me then... the way she just left without a word. It struck me as wrong. Something had changed... and not for the better.

I assume my place in the shadows, and keep my breathing low and unnoticed, but it's not like she could hear me over her sobbing and whispers. Wait, she cries? My heart broke when I heard her gasps and her struggle to keep composure, even to herself. _Dear little bird..._ My eyebrows clench together and I shake my head sadly. I wished I could promise her no more hurt... but I knew she would've rejected my words as soon as they were spoken. After all, have I proven myself worth to her?

I couldn't even talk to her, let alone ask her out. I close my eyes in pain as I imagined her on the floor, soaked to the bone in her misery.

"..why Arnold? Why did you have to kiss LILA? Of all people.."

I clench my fists hardly, and glared upwards. God, why did you make it so hard for her? Wasn't it enough that she suffered with an ignorant family? Hasn't she paid for her sins by being ignored at school? Why must you drudge the chains upon her so heavy to force her to feel that she has to keep her deep dark secret? Why must you do that... and then you shatter her hope of the one true love loving her back? Are you really that cruel?

I want to believe you meant good things for her. I want to believe you meant this to be an opening for my love for her. But what a peverse way to do it, if that was your intention... harming my little bird in such a way. I want her love, yes. But I crave her happiness all the more. And her happiness is in him, her prince. Can't you see that? Can't you make it right again? I turn my thoughts to the boy in question.

Is Arnold that cruel? As much as I want to believe he could be that insensitive on purpose, he had a right to pursue his own happiness... No.. the boy could never be cruel. He could only be kind. And yet, now his kindness cut Helga deep, and his happiness even more. Oh, sweet song bird, what must be done to make you sing again? Could just a kiss undo your resolve, my love? Arnold may be dense, a little more than a generous amount of being optimistic, perhaps a little dimwitted when it came to hard-core, intimate feelings like Helga's, but the boy could never be cruel. His heart and soul are always set in the right place.

But apparently, not for Helga's heart.

"....guess I'll never tell you how I feel.. you'll be more happier with LILA.." Helga said with as much malice as she expressed on the girl's name. I expect to hear her plotting, maybe laugh evilly at the thought of torturing another. I'm so used to so many different sides of her, and I love them all, almost all equally. But I hear nothing. I strain my ears, hoping she is not whispering... but there's only more crying. She didn't do anything, but cry.

I stayed with her the whole night on her fire escape, and whether she heard me or not, she didn't come out to tell me off. I almost hoped she would. That would be the normal Helga. That would be my little song bird.

She stopped crying after twenty minutes, and kept mumbling and hiccuping incoherent words that only I could make out. No one knows her like me. I've seen both sides of her, and lived to tell the tale. Only I don't tell her secrets. I keep them locked away in my heart, for fear that someone might steal the only thing precious to me other than Helga. My memories of her. Granted, most of them are involved with me becoming unconscious in the end, but some like her touching me on the cheek that one day, are locked away with the others. Safe in myself.

Dear little bird... what have they done to you?

What have you done to yourself?

If I had known what pain you transpired, I would've taken it upon myself to right that dastardly wrong.

Dear little bird, don't cry. I love you.

But in the end, love didn't save her, did it?

Love ended up killing her. Or rather... the lack of love did, anyway.

**IV**

That made me angry and sad at the same time. To see her like that. To see a strong, independent person like her, crumble and be reduced to this. Restrained to a hospital bed, stuck with vital fluid giving tubes and machine. God, she's so fragile looking in those sheets, attached to those machines. Like she's unreal. Like she's not really there.

I look to her closed eyes. Sweet little bird... how I want to kiss those eyelashes and crawl into bed with you, sleep next to you without a care in the world. My dear Helga, what have you become but a mass of wires and angry thoughts? When could I have prevented this? When could I have convinced you that this is not the way? I go over the last few weeks, trying to think of where I went wrong... where I could've stepped in and been the voice of reason. But my memory fails me. Or at least, maybe I just failed her instead.

I follow her more blatantly now, to test her, to bring out her fire. I'm no longer standing in the shadows. Technically speaking, you could say I'm right behind her. Helga knows, and frankly doesn't care. And that worries me. She hates my heavy breathing on her, but it's like I'm nothing... Like I'm no one.

Or actually, like it just didn't matter to her.

To think that a while ago, she would have mutilated me for being like this: being so close and observing her. Now.. now she hardly gives a damn. Dear little bird, where is your fire song? I would give anything to see that life back in your eyes!

She doesn't speak anymore, not since.. not since I found her in the alleyway. Almost like she lost her voice. She doesn't go out, doesn't do anything but go to school and stay home, locked in her little room. Sometimes she even didn't come to school. On those days, I stayed behind as well, feeling like it was my duty to be there, if only silently. I knew what it was that she did at home. Cutting herself, drowning herself in her sorrow. A pitiful way for a human-being to go. Suicide. I even shudder at the mere thought. The thought of one hurting themself for pleasure or the pain made me sick to my stomach.

But who am I to judge? Any other person, it would've been another death. But Helga... oh dear, sweet Helga.. my little bird. If she had died and I did nothing- I couldn't bare to think about it.

Of course, I knew that she was headed down that path, but I couldn't predict when she would strike. If there was ever a time I wish I could've read her mind, then was the time. I just wanted to know her, to feel her... to help her. But what could I do but wait? And the waiting hurt. It killed me on the inside to know what I was waiting for. She was a very unpredictable person, my little bird. I knew her better than anyone else, yet, sometimes I wondered if that's enough. I still don't know what really goes inside her head, what kind of demons torture her at night. Who chases you in your dreams, little bird? Who haunts you, who spooked that life out of your eyes? Your prince? Do not fret, little bird, for I am your court jester, with ribbons and haberdashery to cheer you up. But I'm silent, silent like the ghost I try to chase away from her. Everyday, it feels like it's the same with her, and I almost relax if not for the tense feeling in the back of my mind that something was to go wrong very soon.

I watch her as she wordlessly steps inside her house yet again. It was a daily routine for about a week. I would follow her all day since she would wake up, all the way to her classes, then back home, and she'd let me. She'd never speak, never snap, never even look at me. I'd always catch this vacant, blank look in her blue eyes. It made me shiver. There was a time when there was emotion in those very same eyes. Now.. it's like emotion is an alien word to describe her eyes. They're literally dead to everything around her.

I'd watch her ignore her schoolwork and get yelled at by her formerly proud professors during the day, noticing with a grimace of that she wore ridiculously long sleeves to hide the bandages of her self-inflicted cuts. Does she think that could really hide them that easily? Even Sid noticed.. but everyone fails to voice their opinion. Cowards. I'm mad at everyone now, including her precious prince. They had a chance to stop it, yet like the true sniveling, gutless recreants they are, no one spoke. Not even me.. I'm even mad at myself. I could have stopped it too. Why didn't I? If I loved her truly, I would have stopped it when I first noticed it, yet I let it drag on. I was as much a coward as everyone else. Dear little bird, how I have let you down, in so, so many ways...

Now after two weeks, I stopped following her around. I watch from a distance now. Something tells me, deep inside, that she was going to strike, when no one expected it. I keep my eye on Helga, but kept my distance, knowing that I would be there to save her.

Then one day, her routine is different.

Oh Gods, how I hated myself for waiting until the last minute. I should have gotten help earlier. No. I had to let it reduce to this. Little bird, forgive me! O!

I see Helga with four envelopes in her hand, and she plops them all in the mailbox with a slight smile on her face. I don't like that. That is not a good sign. Even though she smiling, the first smile I've seen in weeks actually, I know it's not something good.

The next time I saw her, she came out unto her ceiling. I hold my breath and put a hand to my chest. She's so beautiful, I think, my hands clenching the metal railing. I climbed the fire escape, looking unbelieving at her. She was reciting a poem, her voice beautiful despite it's roughness and slight rasp. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a black gun, and my heart freezes. I want to yell, I want to SCREAM "Stop!" but I am silent. My throat feels frozen and stuck, and my tongue: so thick and so sore. I couldn't say anything. She cocks a gun, and I feel time slowing down. I run though my movements look sluggish, she whispers the final lines of her poems, and just before she fires, I move the gun to only graze her head. But still, she faints dead-away from the shock. She took one good look at me, before closing her eyes. I don't think she even recognized me.

I thought for a moment that she was dead. Frantic, I checked for a pulse. It was there, strong, like her, but she wouldn't be for long, the way the blood was gushing out of her head. No, no, little bird! Little bird, don't die! I grab her up, her blood soaking into me and I resist the urge to sob from the loss. Helga, forgive me! Forgive me!

"HELGA!" I heard a voice behind me yell. Instantly I turn, careful of Helga who is still cradled in my arms. Immediately, upon seeing his face, my mind registers a name. Arnold. The guy who caused all this. Her beloved prince. How dare he show up here! How dare he... when I have it under control. I want to growl at him, I want to duel him to the death in the name of Helga's honor and the right for her love. I shook my head mentally. No. I couldn't waste time. Time was of the essence now, now with poor, sweet Helga practically dying in my arms. Instead, I focused entirely on Helga, shoving my anger away. No, I think, I have more important things to think of. There'll be time for venting my anger against Arnold later.

"We have to get her to the hospital." I simply nod. Arnold stretches his arms out, and I momentarily wonder what he's doing. Then I realize: he wants to take possession of her, after I have picked her up and claimed her. I hold her close to me, unwilling to give her up. But then I look down at her face, my little bird's face, and soften. No, she would want this. I hand her over very gently, and he nods to me. I'm jealous at how perfect they fit together, repressing an urge to punch his lights out.

No, instead I'll save her life another way. I run down the stairs, ignoring the curious look and yelling of Helga's father and mother, and grab the phone and dial 911. Her blood is still on me, like a reminder of how much she has marred my life with being the object of my obsession.

But I don't mind it. My hands shake as I talk to the operator, only vaguely aware of the argument in the background. Focus, focus, focus, I must focus. I can't break down. Not now. Not now when she needs me.

Little bird, live. Live, and I'll make sure you're set free one day.

**V**

Now I'm sitting here, beside her, like a faithful pet, a loyal lover, a true friend. I blink back a couple of tears. Memories have an advantage and disadvantage. Good memories bring back joy, wistfulness; bad memories bring back pain, a certain coldness in the pit of your stomach that you can't exactly get rid of easily.

I look up from my hands when I hear some sniffling. It's Helga, awake, crying. She's not aware I'm here and I get up to grab her hand, moved by her tears. In all my time I've known her, I've never seen her cry. Not like this. So broken... so confused... I almost regret putting her back in her cage, this little bird, that she desperately wanted to flee from. She chirps so sadly, my little bird... and all I want to do is hush away those tears of hers. I refrain from losing my mind and kissing them away, feeling like such a wise coward. If I moved too fast, her little wings would flutter against me too... and she'd leave me without a chance to explain myself. I tenderly wipe her tears away instead with a piece of tissue, savoring the feel of her skin against mine.

Why am I so brave to risk these touches?

Why..? When I know what they do to me?

"Where am I?" she said. I sighed, a weight lifted off my shoulders. Her voice... so much more heavenly than the silence and my own thoughts. She turned and looked taken aback, as if she wasn't expecting me to be here beside her. I must disappoint her, I know. she was expecting her prince... and I am just the court jester. I push away my bitter thoughts and let go of her hand, remembering my place in her life. I nod, not looking into her eyes directly. She intakes a gasp of air and looks shocked.

"You! But I thought-" Another stint of madness: my finger on her lips, silencing that voice that cuts me, that heals me. This was a first, me touching her, and even speaking to her clearly. Usually I had a slight ragged breathing. I improved on that problem three years ago, after working with a speech therapist, but it just seemed natural to let everyone assume that I could speak unless it involved, "Hi", "..er..I don't know.." or even, "Yes.." with hard breathing. I could speak as clearly as the next person, which Helga found out soon enough. I caress her bottom lip with my thumb, wrenching my hand away. What am I doing? Had her brush with death finally made me realize just how important she was to me? I just needed her touch. I craved her, so so much. Just her saying my name, even that nickname of mine, was enough to undo me. She seemed to be legitimately surprised that I was here, that I saved her. And a well of anger came up inside of me. Did she just expect me to stand by and do nothing? Foolish little starling.

"I know what you're thinking.. and first off, I'm glad you're okay." I try to breathe to control my temper, but then I end up losing it anyway. "Dammit, I'm more than glad!" I get up, and look at her, wanting to hate her for all the hurt's she caused me... but instead I love her more. Dear siren, what you mean to me you'll never know. "Helga, what the hell were you thinking?!" I know I'm not supposed to just yell at her... the doctor specifically said she needed rest and quiet. But these emotions, these emotions welling up inside of me threaten to overflow and drown my soul if I don't express this. I need to express this. I can't squash it down forever... not like how she squashed her love down forever.

Helga bit her lip. God, does she know what that does to me? Her lips, her beautiful lips that I wish she would just say my name with. Her tongue! Her tongue, the partner in crime to those which make me quake to my knees. I try to focus on her, trying to push away my love for her to get down to the root of the problem: how dare she try to leave this cage, this life, without me? Doesn't she know I am nothing without her but a shadow? A loveless, brokenhearted shadow? No, she doesn't know -- sweet young bird, sweet and harmless thing that she is. She never meant to hurt me; she didn't even know me. And I sag my shoulders, depressed. But at least I have purpose for now. At least I can prevent this from happening. With new resolve, I look up. She looks away from me and I want to hold her. My hands itch at my sides and I force myself to sit down still.

"Don't you look away either. Helga. Look at me." Helga looked hesitantly into my eyes, and I refuse to give into her at the moment. I need her to be alive, for her sake. For my sake.

"What?"

"Listen.." I lick my lips, trying to get ahold of my patience. "Like I said before, I'm glad you're okay." Her eyes momentarily soften and I knew that act would undo me. It did, and I folded into my emotion, gripping onto my shirt as my heart threatened to burst from the possibility that she could've died... and I would have been alone, forever. She was my drug, and I was the addict... without her, I would've died from withdrawal. "You-you don't know what you mean to me! If you died.. I-I don't know what I'd do!" There were tears on her blanket, and I gasped for breath between the cries, not even looking at her face. I was almost afraid to see her mocking, her hatred... but wanting to see it all the same.

"I.."

"Helga. Stop." I put my hand on hers again, trembling from my explosion of emotion. "If you EVER pull a stunt like that, ever again," I paused, considering my words carefully. What would I do if she left me like that again? What would I do if she succeeded the next time? What other option could there be but join her? My loveless bird, what you do to me you don't know. This power you hold, it's bewitching. All I want to do is be by your side, no matter what. Even in death. "I'll make sure to follow right after you."

Helga sat, not saying a word. Then after a while, I saw tears in her eyes and almost shook from the realization that she felt for me too, on some small level. She holds back her tears, and I almost grin at her. That's Helga for you. Tough girl to the end. Never to shed an unnecessary tear.

"You're not serious.."

What would it take to convince you, my darling pet? What would it take to see that I would move worlds for you if I could? That I would enslave myself for your happiness? That I am hardly a human at all, because of all the love and time I've invested in just you. My sweetness, my glory, you are all that matters to me... and I wonder, which of us is more tragic: you for loving someone who could return your feelings one day, or me for loving you even while you'll never even see me? Perhaps it's me who's more tragic. Perhaps it's me who doesn't know when to stop... when to quit. But if I did, my darling little bird, would you be here today still, to chirp another sad song? Maybe it's God telling me I'm meant to watch out for you, to guide you... or maybe it was a coincidence. After all, your prince did come to your rescue as well, if only a few seconds late. But who am I to talk? I was late as well. Not to mention a coward for not stopping it totally. Dear little bird, you deserve so much better.

I open my mouth to speak but no words come out for a few seconds until I let my heart speak again. "Damn straight, I'm serious. Listen, Helga..." I know you thought I didn't care, but I do. If you were to die, I'd only follow you." No truer words have ever been spoken, or may God strike me down. "Wild hell dogs couldn't keep me away from you .. you're-" I stop myself, and there's a familiar ache in my chest. Oh Helga, if only you knew just how much I loved you. If only you could see that my heart is there, right on my sleeve? "...my friend," I end lamely, disappointed in my lack of courage. I run a hand through my hair and avoid her gaze. "Even if you don't consider me a friend.." I turn away and walk to the window, to get some distance. Being so near her is like water in my lungs. It burns, but it feels so good.. like I'm falling asleep and all I can think about is her enveloping my every sense until I die. I come near her, unable to resist her gravity and hover over her like a sateillite in the sky. "I.. I mean, I know your deepest, darkest secrets.. that has to count for something, right?" I'm referring to her love for her prince, and it's almost bitter coming out of my mouth.

But I don't care. Him or me, it pales in comparison to her perfection. Little bird, how I love you so.

But what's this?

You're... you're crying for me, little bird? Giving a few of your tears to me? To me of all people. All the love I held for her doubled for her in that moment, and my heart swelled and threatened to overwhelm me, as if to crush my very existence because it grew so independent and strong that it did not need a body anymore to survive. With no words, Helga nodded and hugged me. In my shock, I couldn't believe it. Oh Helga! What have you done to me? Don't you know better by now? Don't you... don't you? But I couldn't help myself. I hugged her back, so sweetly, so softly, as if she were my glass figurine. I was afraid to hurt her, after everything she's put me through. Dear little bird, how I could crush you so easily with my hands -- how anyone could take you away from me with just a word and a promise. Dear little bird, I love you... don't ever leave me alone.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I never meant to make you feel that way. I'm sorry."

"Shh," I patted her back, shushing her emotions. "It's okay, it's okay." I knew that in a minute she'd regain her wits and act like she hated me again. But I didn't care. It was all worth it. It was always worth it.

I thought silently,_ I love you, Helga, _gripping her tighter when I thought of what life would have been like had she not been there... what life would have been like if I was two seconds too late from rescuing her.

And I shuddered, hating myself all over again for letting this happen.

What good was I... if I couldn't even protect the ones I loved?

**VI**

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AN: Before I revised this in January 2010, this chapter actually held several different point of views, including Arnold's. I decided to splice it in favor of focusing it on Brainy's story, and sort of delve deeper into the nature of his love for her, as well as flesh out some outside opinion on how she was behaving. I pretty much rewrote the whole thing, to tell ya the truth... but it was worth it. New readers, again, you're not missing anything crucial. If anything, I added more things to it.

If you're wondering why Brainy sound so... "flowery" in his proselike narration... well, I can only chalk it up being around Helga's soliloquies so long. :) It's plausible... right? Sorry for all the bird allusions. I've always thought Brainy always had various pet names for Helga he dare not utter outloud, and the caged bird seemed to fit her very well. Brainy's not some Audabon freak or anything.

"No Seatbelt" by Brand New had a certain passage that just made me think of Brainy. Even if it was life and death for him, he'd hands down choose Helga's life over his. Even through it all, he was content to be in the background. His love for Helga is very pure -- but don't let that prejudice your opinion of him. He's not better or worse than Arnold; just another end of the spectrum... a quiet savior without much fanfare, in need of no herald. I like to think of him as Helga's, well, "Helga." If you get what I mean (love-obsession wise). Too bad love doesn't come in threes, and only two's.

Let me know what you think.

-BG


	4. The Crack

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold! characters/ideas. I do claim credit for the writing below, however. Please be cautioned that this chapter is rated T for a reason for the "possible strong but non-explicit adult themes, references to violence, and strong coarse language" and adult themes such as suicide and mild sexuality. If you are not the recommended age limit for this rating, please read at your own risk.

* * *

**Dreams of Blue Skies**

**Chapter Four**

**The Crack**

They say freak,

When you're singled out,

The red, well it filters through.

-"The Red" Chevelle

* * *

**I**

While some heroes are unknown, some are expected to act up to a role set for them.

These expectations... these new heights are like some reverse limbo game -- a hero has to reach higher and higher every time, beating himself and others to the goal.

But what goal is that? A reputation?

These heroes are no longer human in our eyes. No, they're better than human: they're perfect. And expected to act that way.

Always smiling, always brave, always the first to say "No! Stop!"

They reverse time.

They can fly.

Nothing can defeat these heroes...

Except themselves.

At the end of a hospital hall, a lone man with a football shaped head sits in front of a soda machine. Every now and then between drinking his rootbeer sodas, he chose to look at room down the hall. Specifically room 415. And in this every now and then, this moment where he would stare at the closed door of the girl he has known since he was a child, he would reflect. This is what he was good at: reflecting on things in his life. The hero. It was who he was; the mediator for violence, the understanding voice of concern. But where, in this godforsaken situation, had he gone wrong? When had he started to stop listening to that voice inside of him that told him right from wrong? That voice that had clearly defined him... until now.

Who was he in this strange new world?

And who was that girl in there? That torn up, burned girl? He once knew her... once _thought_ he knew her, he corrected himself. But the person in room 415 -- might as well been a perfect, angry stranger. An acquaintance, really. She wasn't the same as he last recollected, which was two years ago when they last spoke to each other (at least, to his knowledge). She had always been a little hard, even a times apathetic -- but never so immune to his good reason, never so far gone to see his side and follow it.

Arnold wasn't stupid; he knew his eternal optimism was in a large way futile. Maybe it was his way of coping with the absence of his parents, or maybe it was his natural disposition. Whatever the case, he knew once upon a time when times were simpler, his... 'friend' in that room was never as bad as she was now.

But he escaped it, afraid of what he was facing -- afraid of facing her demons when he ran away from his.

So he left her once more, again against his better judgment, and sat down by the vending machine. This is where he decided to sit and drown dejectedly in sugary liquid. Not the same as alcohol, but a good substitute. He could pretend he was the hero he used to be, back in his youth. Or he could face reality. Face how he failed; how so many in her life have failed.

Four root beer cans later, he finally gave up and started to think. What else to think of but the person haunting his thoughts?

He started to think how he could right the vicious wrong done to her.

But how?

He tried to think back, back to those days. It was like being a detective and tracing back his steps, trying to find something like his keys -- in this case it was the beginning of her dark spiral into madness and violence. He closed his eyes, leaning back into the chair. His head hit the wall softly as he mumbled under his breath, trying to concentrate. It was so hard to think back because she was in the background, trying to find her in his mind was elusive -- more elusive than he thought possible (and for a moment he fretted about his neglect)... but after a few minutes, he found her focused.

It was in middle school that the crack had started.

The crack in Helga G. Pataki's facade that would eventually show itself so well.

It was then, when he stopped listening to that voice inside of him that let him be the hero so many times.

**II**

"Can you believe it? Three more days, and we're done with PS 118!"

I smiled at his excitement. Gerald was practically dancing the way he moved down the street. I continue walking along him, suppressing a roll of my eyes. "Hardly," I said, not wanting him to catch on that I would miss the school as much as he wanted to be rid of it.

"No more Mr. Frank!"

"Yup."

"No more Principal Wartz!"

"Uh huh."

"And no more classes with Helga G. Pat-"

Oof! I look at the object I ran into, and my mouth falls, as I blush and scratch my head. I'm embarrassed, but I'm not exactly sure why.

"Speak of the devil," Gerald mumbles and I elbow him, giving him a glare. I smile at Helga who glares at us from the floor.

"Sorry about that, Helga. Let me help you up." I hold out my hand and grab her arm, pulling her up. She opens her mouth and I brace myself for her infamous retorts, and then shuts it.

"Yeah, whatever football-head." She glides past both me and Gerald.

"Wow," Gerald said, as amazed as I was. "She's actually speechless. For once!"

"Shut up, Gerald," I said. "I think she heard you."

"So?"

"So I think you hurt her feelings."

"Arnold," he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. He looked at me with such mocking pity. "That's where you're wrong. Helga G. Pataki? She has no feelings."

I shrugged off his hand, momentarily annoyed with his callousness. "That's not fair, Gerald. I know she may seem mean and everything, but she's a good person deep down. I know she is." But even I'm not that convinced. In the nine years I've known her, I haven't seen much of an improvement. It actually feels like she's getting worse. But I close my mouth, not wanting to tell Gerald that. It'd only reinforce his opinion that she's beyond hope. And I shake my head mentally. Beyond hope? That's no way for me to talk either. No one's beyond hope. Not even Helga.

He scoffs at my rebuttal and I roll my eyes. "Whatever you say, Arnold."

"I've got to go," I said, turning away from him. "I promised Grandpa I'd help out after-school."

"How's the guy doin'?"

"Well, you know Grandpa... it takes more than a fall down the stairs to break his spirit. Even if it broke his hip."

"Yeah, I hear that. Catch ya later, man." He stuck out his thumb and I do the same, wiggling it.

But I don't go to the boarding house. Instead, I walk in the direction Helga's walking, and look for her. She's not a bad person, I tell myself. She's just misunderstood. Deep down, she's nice. I know she is. She just doesn't want to show it for some reason. And whatever happened back there, she seemed really upset.

I see the outline of her back and run up. "Helga! Hey, Helga!"

She stopped and looked over her shoulder. "What do you want, Arnoldo?" But even though she said it like that, her voice is soft and her shoulders are slumped. She covers her chest with her arms and refuses to look at me.

"Look, I'm sorry for what Gerald said back there-"

"You don't have to apologize for him, bucko. I know you're just as happy to get me out of your hair as much as he is." She glares at me, but there's something in her eyes that make them shine and float. Like tears.

"That's not true, Helga. I'm gonna miss having class with you-"

"Miss what? The namecalling? And the spitballs? And the pushing? And-"

"Well," I hesitated, and I realized interrupting her was the wrong thing to do.

"Ha! I knew it. No one's going to miss me. Not even someone as sweet as you."

My brows knit together. Helga actually called me sweet. She wasn't looking at me, but looking at the cloudy sky, and I shook my head. "Why would you say something like that, Helga?"

"Because it's the truth." She looked away from the sky to the ground, and then rubs her arm absently. "Look, I know I haven't been the nicest person to you but-" Helga hesitated, biting her lip. A few seconds go by, and I lean in, unexplainably eager to hear the next words.

"But what, Helga?"

It was like this broke the magic spell and she's the same old Helga she is. She snaps her head up and narrows her gaze at me, as if I had two football-shaped heads instead of one. "But... but... I'm not going to miss you either. Are you kidding?" She puts her hands on her hips. "I'm _GLAD_. No, wait, better. I'm _THRILLED_ that we're not going to be in the same classes anymore, so I won't have to stare at your stupid football-headed face all the time. God, even your voice makes me feel sick. Do you know how long I have waited for this day? Do you know how happy I am?"

This hurts. I don't know why, but it _hurts_ for her to scream all this in my face. For her to be so enthusiastic that she's going to leave me. To leave my life like that. I narrow my eyes, my anger getting the best of me. "Not as happy as I'm going to be," I grit out, and instantly regret my words.

She stops, and looks at me, almost with surprise. Her eyes soften up momentarily and she looks like she's at a loss for words. I sighed. "Helga-"

"Don't." She starts to walk away. I try to grab onto her wrist and she shakes me off.

"Helga, come on! Wait, I didn't-" I try to hold onto her, to stop her from leaving me.

She turned around and slapped me, harder than I expected. In all the time I've known Helga, she's never laid a hand on me. Pushed me, sure; made fun of me, yes. But for all her threats, she's never, ever harmed me. I look at her, almost shocked and a bit surprised... and she is too. She looks at her hand and at me, and shakes her head, turning away from me.

"Just go away, Arnold. Just go away."

Her use of my name stops me, but what keeps me from following her is the tone of her voice. So hurt, so torn... almost like she was on the verge of crying. My stomach contracts and twists, and I feel guilty for my words. But my cheek stings and I feel on the verge of grabbing her, to shake some sense into her. By the time I look up, she's gone, already far away from my grasp.

This is the start of it. This is the moment when I start to avoid listening to that voice inside of me. That voice, on that day, told me, "Go after her."

But I turned around and walked home, holding my cheek. I think to myself that if Helga doesn't want me around that much, then she must mean it.

Because she's never hit me before. And she's never looked at me like that... Ever.

**III **

It was a few years after that, that we finally spoke to each other again. I would always see her, in the background of a few of my classes. Sometimes P.E., sometimes a science class. She wouldn't look at me, wouldn't even acknowledge that she knew me. Everytime I would send a wary small smile, she would pretend that I wasn't even there. I don't know what upset me more: the fact that she acted like that, as if I was the one who did something wrong to her, or the fact that it bothered me (and it really did). By this point, most of us (the old gang of PS 118) had drifted apart somewhat, or at least, began to.

Middle school had started to pull us apart, and by the time we started high school, well... everyone more or less had chosen their little cliques. Some people were glad to escape PS 118, like Gerald... and some adapted extremely well to the high school, like Rhonda. And as much as I tried to keep in touch with everyone, I couldn't -- I had things to do: school, taking care of my family, and now sports, music, extracurriculars. It felt overwhelming to be the superhero I used to be (or used to feel like.) Things had changed whether I liked to admit it or not.

In every class we did have together, she stayed away, always to a back corner. The one time I tried to walk up to her to discuss an assignment, she turned away from me before I even opened my mouth and walked off, much like that time before. A part of me was glad. I know, I should have hated it... I should've just stuck with her and kept on doing the ole patient trick of mine that seemed to work on everyone else -- but she was ice to me. Worse than ice. Stone. I couldn't even chisel into that demeanor without feeling like a huge jerkoff in the process. Before, she would've just teased me mercilessly -- which changed in high school. But somehow, I couldn't stop trying, not at the core of me at least.

By the time high school started, our fates had been, in a sense, sealed. The second to last time I talked to her was after an incident in the cafeteria. We were starting Freshman, so new, so young, and just barely into the newly appointed roles fit for us.

I walked into the cafeteria when I noticed Rhonda by a different table, and when I got closer I realized she was talking to Helga. And by talking to, I mean talking down to.

"...And when will you get rid of that hideous bow, Pataki?"

There was a bow on the ground and Rhonda stepped contemptously on it. Helga didn't move from her table, and Phoebe fidgeted next to her, visibly nervous. There was sniggering in the background; girls from Rhonda's usual table were laughing, and Rhonda looked over at them in smug approval. The popular guys were enjoying the show, probably waiting for a catfight to happen. After all, any moment Helga was going to snap up and I'd have to break up the fight.

But she didn't move, she didn't even say anything... and I found myself disappointed she didn't unleash her wrath. I narrowed my eyes and prepared myself to swoop in, unable to take Rhonda's harassment of others. I'm not sure where she got off feeling all high and mighty, picking on others weaker than her. And then I almost did a double take: since when was Helga the weak girl to take lip from Rhonda?

"What's a matter," Rhonda sneered as she walked past the still girl. "Forget to look at a calendar, Pataki? Halloween was three months ago."

That was my cue. I stepped in, putting a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Rhonda, cut it out," I bite, annoyed by Rhonda's bullying -- and a little troubled that Helga didn't even bother to stick up for herself.

Rhonda shrugged it off. Her eyes were hard and disapproving. "Just giving the school leper a few tips on how to be a little less repulsive. It'd do you some good to remember your place in society, Pataki."

"Okay, we get it," I said, getting closer to Helga, as if to shield her physically from Rhonda's abuse.

Rhonda arched an perfectly waxed eyebrow. "Arnold, don't get attached to this loser. The last thing you'd need is something to make you stumble down the social graces' ladder."

"Thanks for the advice, Rhonda," I said. But I'm not thankful at all in either my tone and my cool expression, and made sure Rhonda noticed it.

She rolls her eyes, as if what I just did didn't matter. "Just giving the girl of a few fashion tips. Christ, Arnold. Chill out. Not like it'd kill her to think about conforming a little." And she walked off.

I glared after her, unhappy with Rhonda's attitude. Since high school it felt like she got worse and worse as far as her attitude. But what could I do about it? I didn't feel as influential or powerful as I did back in those days when any kid could ask me for help or advice -- instead, I felt almost helpless as any other kid here. But there was something I could do for Helga. I picked up the pink hair-bow and offer it to Helga, who still hasn't moved from her spot. She's looking down at her tray which is sparse except for the mashed potatoes in one corner and the small milk carton beside her.

"Sorry about Rhonda. Sometimes she can be a royal bitch." I shake my head, trying to smile. "Here you go, Helga." But she doesn't take it. She doesn't talk to me, look at me, even recognize that I'm here.

"Helga."

No response. I looked at Phoebe who smiled nervously. "Thanks, Arnold." She takes the pink bow and sits down quietly, as if her acceptance was a dismissal.

But I don't go away. Not until I get her to speak to me. Hell, even look me in the eyes. I sit down across from her, and look at her face. She's still looking down at her blue tray, playing with her food. A part of me is annoyed with her behavior. After what I just did for her, after her slapping me a few years ago, and insulting me as long as we've known each other, why does she get to act like she's the one who's mad? _I_ should be the one who's mad by all rights. I tap my fingers against the table, signaling that I wasn't going to leave anytime soon. And then suddenly she spoke.

"Criminey, what do you WANT, Football-head?"

It shouldn't please me as much as it did, but even hearing that nickname again made my heart jump. I knit my eyebrows at the feeling, confused at why my heart was suddenly beating so fast when she spoke to me. "I, uh," I stammer. I hadn't planned this far into approaching her. It was more spontaneous to sit here and wait to see if she would respond to my stubbornness. I honestly hadn't expected her to even look at me, much less that outburst.

"Spit it out, we haven't got all day," she rolls her eyes and puts her cheek in her hand, playing with her food. She was currently digging up the mashed potatoes and making a miniature mountain.

"Why didn't you stand up for yourself, Helga?"

She stops her mashed potato mountain-building. Phoebe gets up suddenly. "I just remembered! I've got to, uh," she looks around and squints to her left. "Get a drink of water. Excuse me, Helga, Arnold." And then promptly runs off.

"Traitor," Helga mumbles so low but I hear her anyway.

"You haven't answered my question, Helga."

"Who says I've got to?" She sets her utensil down and glares at me. "And what are you? The Spanish Inquisition? So I let Princess Airhead have her way with me. Big deal." She paused, crossing her arms across her chest. "Why do you care all of a sudden?"

"Because that's not the Helga that I know, letting people walk all over her like that." By now, I know we're being watched by everyone around us. Helga's aware of it too, and blushes. She grabs her tray and stands up.

"Yeah, well, maybe I'm not that Helga anymore, bucko." She begins to walk towards the exit, dumping her tray into the trash.

Oh no. She's not getting away that easy.

I run after her, wondering why I'm doing this. After three years of barely speaking to each other, why am I so adamant about running after her while the whole school looks on? I don't know. I'm so riled up I can't even think straight. She brushes me off like that and expects me to fall off her shoulder, without a worry in the world? Tough chance, Pataki, I think. I catch up to her easily as she enters the schoolyard, and grab her shoulder and whirl her around.

"Then who are you?" I demand.

Her eyes widen in surprise at the physical touch and then she narrows them again. Before she can think of a response, I continue, dimly aware of how hard my grip is on her. I knew there were people pausing, looking at our heated exchange but I didn't care. I've never been this annoyed in all of my life -- why does she always make me feel this way? Bring out this positiveness and negativeness in me like some supercharged battery?

"Who are you, Helga? Where's the Helga that would stand up for herself?"

"She's dead," she spat out, wrestling out of my hands. "She's dead, and she's not coming back."

She raised her hand as if to slap me and I hold her arm, my fingers curling around her wrist. "Let me go, Arnold."

I shake my head. "No. You're not doing this again."

"I don't want to ask you again: let me go."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Let me _go_."

"Why are you doing this, Helga?"

"Because I hate you!" She wrung her hand away and put it to her chest, holding it. Her eyes burned into me like her skin to my fingers. "I hate everything about you. Didn't I say leave me alone?"

"Yeah, but-"

"But nothing, football-head." She looked away, and moved away from me. She was only a few feet away when I called out to her, a hand again reaching for her.

"Helga, just wait a minute. Let's talk about this." I remember all those years ago when she slapped me. I put my hand to my cheek, remembering how much it stung for her to touch me like that. But what I remember the most was that voice. No, I can't give up. Not now. I open my mouth and let my heavy words come out, not knowing what an explosion I'd set off with them. "You can't keep running away from me like this."

She turned around and it was like lava bursting out of a volcano. "Running away? Whoever said I was RUNNING from you, Football-head? Can't a girl just get some peace and quiet without being tormented?"

"I'm tormenting you?"

She lets out such a sad, short laugh. "Like you'd never believe." She looks up at me, and the anger is out of her face. Her pale, alabaster skin is flushed with blood, circulating in her cheeks. I look down at her through my half-lidded eyes. She looked pretty then, just looking at me with that wistful misty look. I'd never really seen it before.

My eyebrows knit together. "What is that supposed to mean?"

She looks frightened, as if a snake popped out of my mouth instead of that question. "Nothing." She looks around and realizes how many people are watching. She rubs her arms and breathes heavily. "I don't want to talk about this." She turns and I catch her by the arm.

"No, not until we talk about this, Helga. I'm not letting you just walk away, not until I know you're okay."

"I keep telling you: I'm fine." But her voice breaks, and she's shaking. "I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine!"

"No! No, you're not! Why do you have to be like this all the time?"

"Like what? Mean? Horrible? Arrogant?" She spits out the words and twists out of my grip. "Take your pick, they're all pretty accurate. You saw what happened in there. If you hadn't swooped in and done your little hero schtick, Rhonda would've just kept going." She pauses and looks down, and then around at the kids in the distance watching. "She would've just kept making my life a living hell, as if it wasn't already."

I step forward. "Helga, anytime you need my help, you can always tell me."

She looks so vulnerable, this Helga. She opens her mouth, and looks at me with those beautiful hesitant eyes. But before she says anything the spell is broken, again.

"Hey Arnold!" someone cries out. "Nice girlfriend! I didn't know you were doing charity work!" I look to see who it is, but I can't tell. All the other kids laugh, and Helga closes up. No, no, don't Helga. Don't block me out -- not again.

"Helga, don't listen to them-" I touch her arm, and she pushes me off suddenly.

"Christ, leave me alone, you idiot! I said I was fine. I don't need anyone's pity, especially not from an orphan like you-" the words already left her mouth and she clamped a hand over her mouth. I instantly stepped back, my heart thundering in my chest. Did she just say what I thought she said? Blood was rushing to my head and my insides felt hollow. It took me right back to the day when her father called me an orphan so callously in front of the other children and parents on Parent's Day. All I could see in Helga's face was the cruel visage of Bob Pataki, a man who laughed at what I had lost. I turned on my heel and walked away, trying to control my rage and disappointment.

The kids are still laughing, but I ignored them. I couldn't believe she said it. Why did she say it? Why, why, why, why? There are tears in my eyes, and I gulp in some air. I felt dizzy and hollow, as if her words sucked out everything in me.

"Arnold." She called out, and my heart gave a pang at her voice. Why?

"Don't." I closed my eyes in a desperate attempt to keep my tears at bay. Why did she have to hit there, of all places? Helga, are you just like your father after all? Just some mean person, with no soul, with no absolute measure of empathy?

"Arnold, please-"

And then, repeating her words those years ago, I said through my teeth, "Just go away. Go away, Helga." Almost instantly right after, my heart tugged and I regretted saying that to her. But I couldn't stop walking, I couldn't let her know how much she hurt me. How much she always hurts me everytime we talk now. It's like all she wants to do is tear me down, strip me to my bones, and mock me for being so naked and ashamed.

Something in me stirred, awakened after all this time. It was that same voice which came back to me. Before, years ago, it said: Go after her.

Instead now it said: Be gentle with her. Forgive her.

Turn the other cheek. Such Christ-like principles, but I'm not God. I can't suppress this terrible pain in my heart.

I can't forget.

I put a hand to my forehead, and opened my eyes. No, I had to be better than this -- I had to be stronger. But god, it hurt, her words, they always know how to sting right to my soul. With great reluctance, I opened my mouth. "Helga, wait a minute. I'm sor-"

But when I turned back, she was gone.

**III**

I never forgot that. I almost didn't want to forgive her for what she said to me that day. But I did -- I just couldn't bring myself to tell her that. I couldn't approach her without fearing she would say that hurtful thing she said once before... and what I would do this time around if she did.

So I left her alone. I put her in the back of my mind. She was always there, meandering, working -- but I was lucky enough not to have a class with her for another year until we became Sophmores.

A part of me hurt that day she called me... well, that. But I think when I said those last words to her, the same words she told to me after she slapped me before summer vacation, I think I hurt her back. Maybe hurt her even more. I don't know. Sometimes I feel like I've got a too soft heart when it comes to Helga. Everytime I make up my mind that she's one thing, something she does or says convinces me that she's not just what she appears. And that's interesting to me.

For the safety of my sanity and pride, I left her alone though. I didn't go near her, not unless I had to -- and the times where I would look at her, it'd surprise me how much she'd change each time. A little bit more weary, a little more tired, but always the same surly girl bursting full of bravada.

It was in Sophomore year that things began to change though, for the worse.

**IV**

"Who's that?" I ask, looking at a familiar face.

Gerald looks too and snorts laughter. "I'm surprised you don't recognize her."

"Huh?" I look at him and then back at the girl in the crowd. She has make up on, almost too much like she's trying to hide herself. Her clothes are all dark and black -- the only thing really noticeable about her is her pink bow on top of her head and--

"Oh my god," I said, totally shocked. "Helga?"

"You should so see the look on your face," Gerald said, shoving a book into his locker. He doesn't suppress his laughter. "For a minute there I thought you were going to ask her out."

"What?!" I snap out of my daze. "No, no! I mean... she's looks so-"

"Weird? Freaky? Ten times as worse as she did before?"

"Well, I was going to say older but-"

"Yeah. All that and more, my friend." Gerald closes his locker and looks at her again. "Sid says she got into voodoo over the summer. Black magic. Witch craft."

I roll my eyes. "Since when do you believe Sid?"

"Hey, I didn't say I believed him, but come on, man -- look at her. Just LOOK at her."

"Yeah? So? It doesn't mean anything that she's wearing black-"

"I thought you'd say that." Gerald leaned in. "Sid says they're going to do an experiment," he paused, waiting for Helga to pass. I look after her. She looked lean and pale -- she had lost a lot of weight since the last time I saw her. Her long hair was down, and the eyebrow of hers was thinning out, as if she groomed it a bit. It was true she was dressed almost entirely in black save for the pink bow on top of her hair; she had a long skirt that dripped down onto the ground and a faded shirt that had seen better days, patched up like there was no tomorrow. She looked more like a pauper than a witch.

As she passed by, she lifted her head to look at me. My heart begins to speed up and I can't look away from her. But then someone pushes her forward, and she looks away, walking very quickly. What was that just now? That look she just gave me? I close my locker, trying not to think about it, but every memory involving Helga hits me and I find myself fumbling with my lock.

Gerald continued, "They're going to do an experiment. You know... Test on her to make sure she's not a witch or something."

"You can't be serious."

He lifted up his hands defensively. "Notice how I said 'they' and not 'us' or 'we.' You know I think Sid's a hothead with bogus theories. I mean, he thought Stinky was a vampire in the fourth grade. How nuts can a kid get?"

My lips twitched at the memory and I looked after Helga's back, vividly remembering the last time we exchanged words. Her words still cut me so very deeply, it's truth cutting to the core of me. _An orphan like you._ Oh god, that still hurt -- just remembering it was enough to make me moody. But as much as she wronged me, I couldn't let her suffer. Not at the hands of some high school prank. Despite my stance, I had my misgivings -- everytime I got involved in Helga's problems, it seemed like the only one who got hurt was me. I shrugged on my backpack, sighing. "Yeh. Do you think they'll go through with it?"

"Who knows," Gerald shrugged. The first bell rang and we walked together to class. Gerald threw me a grin. "All I know is I do not want to be Helga G. Pataki tonight." Then he laughed before he went into the room. "Though, it's not like I'd want to be Helga anyway."

It weighed on me the whole day, and every time I saw that pink bow in the crowds, something inside of me twisted. I wanted to go up to her, to tell her what was happening. It was that hero in me again. That hero bursting to get out and make things right. I hate that hero; I hate him because he's everything that I'm not now. I'm not really the hero. I'm just a teenager, one teenager in the world... what can I do? But classes with her go by and I don't get up to tell her, afraid that she wouldn't believe me, or worse, would.

Still, the injustice stings me in a way I can't ignore and by the time the last bell rings, I find myself trying to find Helga Pataki. Why do I always do this to myself? Why do I seek her out like this every so often? What is it about her that always draws me to her, despite the fact that she's everything I can't stand?

I zoom in on that bow that feels like a calling card than an accessory. I tried to part my way through the crowds, still short as ever. "Helga! Helga!" But it's too late, she's already on the bus leaving for home. Christ, I curse, and run over to her home. By the time I get there the sun is beginning to set. Her mother -- to my infinite relief -- is the one to open the door, and she informs me that Helga went off to the park to meet someone. I slap my forehead, unable to believe my bad luck. "Sid, don't do anything stupid," I said under my breath as I ran towards Tina Park.

When I got there, it was almost dark. I looked around, trying to find that infamous pink bow, and walked around. After a few minutes, I figure I was too late... that is, until I hear a bunch of laughter and go towards it. I look through the bushes and I see four figures. Helga's there, drenched in water. There's an empty bucket above her head and Sid's holding the rope connected to it. What did they do? I step out of the shadows.

"Helga?"

The four people looked at me, three of them startled.

"Arnold, hey man... what are you doing here?" Sid hissed at me. Stinky and Curly shifted around, suddenly uncomfortable with my sudden appearance. Helga, on the other hand, was standing there going from miffed to confused.

"Arnold?" She whispered. She was shivering in the cool night, the wet clothes not helping. She looked at me with such hope in her eyes, and I felt feverish just feeling her gaze on me. Such power, those eyes hold -- why can't I ever escape her eyes? I turn away from her and focus my attention on the idiots who got us in this mess.

I glared at Sid and gave a meaningful look at the other guys. "Hey Helga," I said, not taking my eyes off the others. "How's it going?"

"I got a note," she said slowly, looking from me to the guys. They shrugged and pointed at me, and I glared at them.

"I didn't write that note, Helga. Whatever is in it is a pretty bad joke. _Right, guys_?" I grit, and they nod in agreement. Curly sniggers a bit and Stinky elbows him in the gut.

"Yeah, it was just a joke, Pataki. Sid here thought you were a witch!" Stinky said.

"Though, it looks like you didn't melt after all," Curly sighed and gave a grin. "Guess Sid owes me twenty bucks after all."

Sid groans, and opens up his wallet, passing a bill to Curly. "Yeah, yeah, but the evidence _was_ there." He looked at me, still trying to play this whole thing off like a harmless joke. "You gotta admit, Arnold," Sid said to me, "she does dress and act like one."

"Guys, you are fucking retards, you know that?"

Curly starts laughing. "It was so worth it to see the look on her face though."

I finally look at Helga again, who's still looking at the letter and then at me. She's shivering, the wind was blowing, and with her thin quivering lips she tries to talk. She holds her arms around her, especially careful not to let go of the letter.

"So... You _didn't _write this?"

I arched my eyebrow, and take a step toward her. "No, I didn't, Helga." She's quiet for a little while, and then a sound comes from her throat, guttural and raw.

She tore it apart, suddenly so upset. She was quiet again, looking at the guys and me, as if trying to decide what to do. "You're a part of this?" She asked me, her whole body shaking visibly. I wasn't sure if it was the cold that was doing it, or if she was beyond angry.

I took a step back, unable to believe what was happening. "What?! NO!"

Stinky, Sid, and Curly widened their eyes and stepped away from me, as if to isolate me (or put me more in her line of vision.) She's advancing, her fist raised and I wave my hands, frantic. Oh jeez, now I'm in for the beating of my life. Great. This is what I get for trying to save the day -- again. "No, Helga, wait... it's not what you think-" As always she cuts me off, before I've had a chance to even explain. Her fist goes down and she's shivering more than before.

"God, just save it. I thought I was wrong about you. I really thought you were better than this." There were tears streaming down her face, and she tried to hide them without success. The guys beside me were gaping; Curly wasn't sniggering anymore. My heart felt still -- I never saw Helga actually cry before. "But you just proved everything I've ever known about the world totally right. I guess I should thank you."

"Helga! Let me explain. Please."

She held out a hand and put it to her temple. "You know, I even felt bad about calling you an... orphan. You don't know how many times I've told myself to apologize to you." She looked at me, her chin trembling. It must've taken everything she had to hold herself together. "But I'm so glad I did now. Because you're no better than those guys. You're nothing, Arnold. You're not even worth it." I didn't even know what 'it' was then. She ran off before I could hold her in place.

"Wow," Stinky said.

"Yeah," Sid replied.

I looked over my shoulder to glare at them again. "God, you guys are such assholes," I said. "What the hell did you write anyway?"

Curly opened his mouth and Sid elbowed him. "OW! The fuck! Everyone keeps elbowing me."

Sid shook his head at Curly, mouthing something to him. Curly rubs his side and rolls his eyes, and Sid answered me, "You don't want to know, Arnold. Besides, we were just having fun."

"Some fun," I muttered, and put my hands in my pockets. Suddenly my evening sucked even more, and I hated having to be the hero again. I looked at the puddle where Helga G. Pataki once stood. There were drops from the bucket coming down still; and then the lights came on in the park. I walked away from the guys, not wanting to talk to the douchebags anymore. Why was it always on me?

Why was it always my fault?

Why did I have to be the hero, always and forever?

I punched a tree suddenly on my way out of the park. And worse, why did Helga always have to view me as such a jerk? Everything in me screamed to convince her it's not true... and god, did I try... but she wouldn't leave her house, and her father always slammed the door in my face.

I remember, once, leaving her house after a failed attempt to talk to her, I thought I saw her in the window. She was smoking a cigarette, and she was looking down at me through the curtains. I raised a hand to wave to her, to bring her down so we could talk.

She left by the time I waved...

I knew if she didn't hate me then, she hated me now. So I kept my distance, feeling she deserved some peace.

And that was the last time we talked, the last time I was ever that close to her until the day of her suicide attempt.

**V**

It was like it was a blur.

A surreal... nightmarish blur that started the moment I read the first word of Helga's goodbye letter... to now as I run in the streets. My chest is thundering, and I struggle for air, but I don't stop. I can't stop. God, who knows when that letter could have been sent? Who knows what could have happened? She wasn't in class for two days. Christ, how could I have been so stupid? What was I thinking? What did I think happened to her?

Why couldn't I see it?

It was there in front of me, all this time, and I couldn't see it.

I keep running hard and fast, not stopping once to catch my breath. Someone's life depends on me. No, not just someone. It's Helga. _Helga's_ life depends on me! Helga, who I could've saved, if I brought myself to go back to her that one day to talk to her... if I listened to that hero's voice and made a difference. Helga's life. Helga's life! That makes me run harder and faster,

I see people give me confused and surprised looks as I race past the pedestrians. I pay no attention, knowing that every second that went by- No! It was too horrible to even think about that possibility. I couldn't let myself think that she could be dead. Within the distance I see her house and try to go faster, but it's like my legs are made out of molasses. And I stop cold, hearing a gunshot. NO! No, she can't- No, she couldn't have! And I run up the fire escape of Helga's house, slipping once, before getting a grip. Reaching the roof, I see Brainy holding Helga.

Time felt still for a moment. As if God was judging us by our actions, by our inactions to save one soul: Helga. The sky felt like it was crushing us with its omniscient power. The only thing that really moved was my chest as I struggled for air.. and the blood that dripped like a fountain from Helga's head. Her hair was matted already with bits of her body and liquids, and I felt sick. Oh god, oh god, oh god, she did it, she really did it, oh god.

But I couldn't let myself get sick. No, Helga, got to focus on Helga. I shake myself awake from the shock.

"HELGA!" I hear myself yell, as I ran over to Brainy. It's like I'm outside of myself, looking on as I approach him. Brainy looks over his shoulder, and I could have sworn I saw anger, and ..hate?, in those eyes, behind those glasses.

"We have to get her to the hospital." He nods in agreement and then I hold out my arms. I don't know why I want to hold her since it looked like Brainy was holding her just fine... but in reflection, I think that I wanted to hold her. I wanted to hold her to me in a way to make it right for everything I did wrong. I could have saved her. If I had just listened to myself all those times... god, why? Why did this have to happen?

Brainy seems to give me a brief second of mistrust (in a way, I have earned it) before handing Helga over to me. She was so light, so unreal. She was pale, her white skin a stark contrast against the vivid red of the blood gushing out of her body. I shiver, trying not to get sick again from the sight. My t-shirt absorbs most of her blood and I'm careful holding her. No, no, Helga. Stay with me. Stay alive. God, please, stay alive.

He rushes to the door, and I follow him, gingerly going down the stairs with care. Brainy grabs the phone and dials for an ambulance, and I try to keep from shaking from the shock. I can't lose it, I can't lose it now. Helga needs me -- oh god, the blood. I hear indistinct yelling from Mr. Pataki and screams from Mrs. Pataki. Mr. Pataki didn't seem to notice Helga in my arms at first, just me. She looked so small and perfect in my arms. Like a dying angel in black.

"Alfred! What are you doing here?!" He yelled at me. I simply look down at Helga in my arms, still bleeding, still helpless, and Mr. Pataki follows my gaze. He turns pale and looks at me menacingly, coming forward a bit. His hands shake as if he's about to strangle me.

"What the fuck did you do to her, you parentless piece of shit?!"

I glared at him, wincing at the use of words. It still hurts, but the hurt wasn't as bad as I thought it would be... not as much as it did coming from Helga.

"Nothing! She attempted suicide!" I yell back, holding Helga closer to me. I really didn't like the thought of her leaving my arms, especially to be held by someone with a volatile temper like Mr. Pataki's. Helga's father, on the other hand, steps back in shock.

"What the hell do you mean she fuckin' attempted suicide? The girl wouldn't do that!"

He really doesn't get it. This guy just doesn't get it. How could he miss it? He was right here -- he was right here living with her. He was her father, dammit. Weren't parents supposed to know their children? Supposed to protect them? Didn't they notice? I mean if they lived here at all with Helga, surely they would notice, or did they ignore her that much? The last thought rings true and I look down at her face, wishing I could touch her face and wake her up to apologize to her. To tell her I'm sorry, like so many times before. I never knew who she was... and I still don't. Who is Helga Pataki?

"With all due respect, sir," I spat out the last word, glaring back at her father. "I'm afraid she has. She's only alive because of him."

Mr. Pataki looked at Brainy, and then at me. "H-how did she?"

I tried to control my voice from wavering, but it was a losing battle. Only my anger for him kept me in check. "She tried to shoot herself."

"Shoot..?" Mr. Pataki asked quietly as he leaned against the wall. He put a hand to his forehead, shaking his head slightly. "No, it can't be... It can't."

"Yeah, by a black revolver.." Brainy answered both the operator and Mr. Pataki. He looked at Mr. Pataki with displeasure, and scowled at him, turning back to the wall as he completed the call. Mr. Pataki stumbled into another room, clenching his fists tightly, still mumbling to himself. The absence of her husband must have sprung Helga's mother to finally react.

"MY BABY!" Mrs. Pataki cried as she stumbled over to me. I see that she's half-drunk, due to that dazed look, but still sober enough to tell the difference whether her daughter is hurt or not.

Mrs. Pataki stopped as she looked at her daughter's head and sat down on one of the steps of the stairs. There were tears coming out of her eyes, and soon her whole body was racked with sobs. She kept reaching out a hand to touch her, but pulling her arm back to her chest, rocking herself. We're silent as we all wait for the ambulance, praying, hoping for a miracle. We're quiet because we don't know what to say. What could we say? What couldn't we say? We all looked away, and all looked at Helga -- the common factor of our attendance. Sirens wailed in the distance, but relief wouldn't come to me; no, it wouldn't come for a long time, not even when she arrived to the hospital.

Helga was quiet, save for her shallow breathing. That was the only sign that she was still alive.

It was all I could do to keep from crying, right there on those steps. I haven't cried in a few years, and the tears inside me burned my very soul with the unshed guilt I felt.

I could've stopped this.

I could've prevented this.

Couldn't I?

**VII**

She's expecting me to talk. I know she is.

I'm expecting me to talk, too.

But the thing is... no words are coming out of my mouth.

"So... how are you feeling?" I wince at the stupidity of that question. She shot herself, you dope, I thought. How do you think she's feeling?

"Fine," she replied.

It's weird, this awkward atmosphere. So many unspoken things. I tried to think about it from Helga's point of view... here she was, alive and not dead, sitting with me... the person she's 'loved' for so long. Suddenly, I'm uncomfortable too. Maybe this was a bad idea.

"That's good," I said. I wanted this to end, but at the same time I didn't just want to leave her.

"What happened to you?"

"What?" I suddenly realize how I must look: hair everywhere, smelly, stubble all over my face -- hell, this blood is still on my shirt. I suppress a shiver. _Her_ blood is on _me_ -- on my hands still. I self consciously cover my chest with my arms and don't look her in the eye, embarrassed at my appearance. "Oh, I haven't gone home to take a shower yet. I wanted to... see you first."

"You did?"

"Yeah. I was worried about you. I mean..." I try to cover up, suddenly bashful. "Everyone was worried about you."

"Is that so?" The tone wasn't friendly anymore, nor was it surprised. Helga looked cold and impeachable, like a mountain I wouldn't dare to climb. "Didn't know they all cared so much."

I didn't know what to say, so I automatically denied her charge. "Helga, they're all waiting in the lobby, crying themselves to death." I wince at my choice of words. She glares at me.

"Please. Like they would know what I've been through."

"Then enlighten us. Let us in. God, Helga, where have you been all this time?"

"I've been here-"

"No, I mean," I put my hand to hers, and squeeze it. "Where has _Helga_ been all this time? You're not the same girl you used to be, not the same person you were before... is it any wonder if the rest of the kids got a bit-" I stopped myself. What was I doing? Why was I saying all of this to her? She didn't need any of this from me. But it was too late. Hard Helga was there, and she wasn't leaving.

"What? The kids got a bit what? Weirded out? Freaked? Do I scare them now? Do I remind them that death can come so easily, and that it can choose favorites if it wants to? God, you're just the same as you always were, Arnold. For once, for once can you think about just a single person instead of the whole god damned group? Can you think of me? Can you think about what I went through?" She said, and then rolled her eyes. "Forget it. Just forget it. I should know that this is impossible."

"What's impossible?" I countered.

"Living is impossible."

"It isn't, Helga."

"Says the boy with the perfect life. How's LILA, by the way? Last I heard, you guys were great _chums_."

The question freezes me, and I don't know how to answer it. She wasn't there in the waiting room with me, or any of the others. I don't even think I even called her to let her know what happened. I was just stuck in that chair, stuck trying to soak it all in what just happened hours earlier.

"I..."

Helga's face softens at my inability to answer, and as if reconsidering her request, she shrugs it aside and continues on with the conversation.

"What do you want, Arnold?" Her voice was soft, and I can tell I've made her tired. I close my eyes and put my face in my hands. What _do_ I want from her?

"I don't know. I just wanted to see if you were okay."

"Well, fine, I'm okay. Just want to go to sleep now." It wasn't a really subtle hint, but then again, Helga wasn't really a subtle sort of girl. A few seconds passed and she spoke again. "Is that all?" I'm not sure what I heard in her voice, whether it was hope, or relief. I didn't know which one was better to choose from.

I want to say more. I want to ask more. But one more look at her face, and I decide not to push my luck. I shake my head, unable to trust my voice completely, and get up to go. But before I do, I stop and look at her.

"Believe it or not, there are people out there who do care for the formidable Helga Pataki. They're out there in the waiting room, in their homes, everyone is wondering and praying for you. The least you could do is acknowledge that."

And then I leave, closing the door softly behind me.

**VIII**

Four cans later, I'm still where I started. I look at my half-empty root beer can, and a million questions pop and fizzle in my brain like the soda bubbles in the can.

No man is an island.

That's the saying I want to tell Helga. That's what I've been trying to show her ever since I've known her: no one can duke it out alone.

And here she was, on a hospital bed, still so frail... determined to shrug off any regard for her. I wondered, very briefly, would she do it again? Would she, if she got the chance, attempt suicide again? It sent a shudder down my spine, and the pit of despair in my stomach deepened and widened by an inch. Why did I feel so weak whenever she was involved in my life? I looked at door 415, putting my chin on my hand.

What do I do? After everything, she still pushes me away. She won't let me talk, she won't let me near her... it's like she's afraid of me. And, remembering her confession of love via post, I agree that she should have reservations. All this time she's loved me - loved me, and I've never known. Of course, now that I look back it wasn't entirely out of place, and it made sense in a weird way. And it even flattered me. But what does this all mean now, now that she's in a hospital, now that I'm with Lila. Does this change anything? Does it change everything?

I think the one thing I do know clearly is I don't want to lose Helga; I don't want to lose anyone that way anymore, and it scares me, this concept of death. It was so faraway before, and now it's here, visiting around, saying hello to people I know (knew). How could I stop such a force?

My half-empty root beer can is all I can look at. Should I finish it or not?

What do I do now?

How can I become that hero again... and save Helga from that crack she slipped through, before she slips further?

I got up, and chugged the rest of the soda down, throwing the empty can into the trashcan. I'm gonna go talk to Gerald.

**IX

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**

AN: **Revised January 2010**. Just like with the prior chapter, I ended up just splicing the original chapter three, and just dividing it among Arnold and Brainy (the two POVs that sort of 'conflicted' with each other). Really, new readers: not missing anything. I even added several new pages of information to this chapter.

I really wanted a chapter just to focus on Arnold to put him even more in a special light. I've always felt really bad that he didn't save Helga, but I got tired of him always being the one to be there "in the nick of time." Brainy was so much more plausible, and he earned it in my eyes. That didn't make Arnold any less deserving. In any case, I want to convey the message that despite everyone's opinion, Arnold really did try. Did he try all he could? No. But then again, he's not God, he's just a kid. A teenager, actually... and a teenage Arnold, while still special, can't be expected to take the world's burdens on his shoulders entirely. It's just not realistic. Sooner or later, even someone as pure-hearted as Arnold becomes a little selfish (and there have been plenty of instances in the series relating to this happening to him before. He does always do the noble thing at the END of the episode.)

To be honest, doing an Arnold POV was almost too hard for me to do. I was *this close* to just doing regular ole third person limited narrative, but then I stuck with it and got cool scenes out of it (but overall, writing Brainy and other characters felt easier). I initially wanted Arnold to bump into Helga right as she left Dr. Bliss's office for the last time (which is probably partially why she was so upset), but I think I'll flesh out that revelation in another chapter.

The song lyrics above belong to a song called "The Red" by a band named Chevelle. It's a really good song and it the lyrics are interpreted as more of a song about anger, being singled out... and I think while we may have a good opinion of Arnold, look at how much is expected of him! He's singled out and is forced to act so much more mature than is expected for a kid that age. Also, the lyrics could be applied to Helga -- an outsider, unable to express her feelings (both anger and love) healthily, and I took the "red" in the song to relate to "blood."

**Please review. It'd make me super happy to know what you thought.**


	5. Girl of Mine

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold! characters/ideas. I do claim credit for the writing below, however. Please be cautioned that this chapter is rated T for a reason for the "possible strong but non-explicit adult themes, references to violence, and strong coarse language" and adult themes such as suicide and mild sexuality. If you are not the recommended age limit for this rating, please read at your own risk.

* * *

**Dreams of Blue Skies**

**Chapter Five  
**

**Girl of Mine**

Shadows linger

Only to my eye

I see you, I feel you

Don't leave my side

It's not fair

Just when I found my world

They took you, they broke you, they tore out your heart

-"Haunted" Kelly Clarkson

* * *

**I**

A hand went through his hair distractedly. Outside there was a dull commotion, and he bristled at it. But he wouldn't budge from his worn out chair, not for anyone. Not until he had time to think, to process the enormous shock he had been through.

On the other side of the home was a crying woman. He tried to shut out the noise, tried to ignore the reasons why she was crying. "Bee," she gasped. "We're going to the hospital now."

"Now?" he yelped, getting up from the chair immediately. "Why?"

But he knew why.

His wife stared at him through foggy glasses. When he met her in the hallway, he heard the sad music and the sobs upstairs from his eldest child, his shining achievement in life. The girl was too weak to even make it out of her bedroom without breaking down.

"Because she's in the hospital, Bee," his wife said, and let out a shuddering gasp. "And someone's got to be there. Someone's got to be with her."

"And it's got to be you?"

"If it isn't me, who will it be?" she bit out.

The doorbell rang and he almost tore his hair out from the frustration. "What does _that _mean?"

"It means Helga needs us to be with her. Are you coming with me, or aren't you?"

There seemed to be a bleak silence, and the man regarded with the woman with a mixture of surprise and indignation -- he wasn't used to being pushed around, especially not by his wife of twenty years. But then again, this wasn't an average day in either of their lives, was it? He didn't want to go, didn't want to face that sort of pain and blame... but he couldn't just avoid it?

Besides. His wife looked pissed enough as it was.

"Fine, fine," he bit back, annoyed at her tone and her aggressive stance. He went to the coat rack and nearly tore his jacket off the wooden peg. Since when did Miriam stand up for herself?

The doorbell rang again, reminding him that they were still waiting for him to come face to face with his worst nightmare.

"Christ! In a MINUTE!" He yelled, and stomp over to the door, opening it with savage dislike. And then was met with a bright flash.

**II**

"Damn them all." I mumbled as I was met with bright flashes of lights and shouts of questions. I open the door to growl at one stranger, but instead met with twenty. This just isn't my day.

"Mr. Pataki, do you have any reason to know why your daughter--Helga--attempted suicide?" A male voice came from one side of me, thrusting a recorder into my face. I almost bit off his hand for my response.

"Do you know her current condition at the hospital?" A microphone came in front of me. My patience is really wearing thin.

"Why aren't you there with her?" Questions were shouted at me all at once. Giving them my best death glare, I grit out my response.

"Get the fuck out of my face, you bastards." I turn my head and look at my quaking waif of a wife. "Miriam, get in the car." She brushes past me and I hold onto her arm to guide her through the swarm of reporters. I slam the door shut as soon as they begin to flash their cameras and record me on their tapes.

I hate the lot of them. I briefly think about running them over with my large car, but I just back out and drive down the street away from the craziness.

No. Instead, I grip the steering wheel, Those questions really got to me. Miriam's next to me, sniffling slightly. I can tell those reporters really got to her too. I narrow my eyes. I have to be the tough one. I have to be the backbone. Just because the Girl.. The Girl..

_Helga._

It finally gets to me. Helga.

I've always thought of her as a second "Olga" or "girl," but I've cared.. I've tried.. haven't I? I mean I've never shown in on the outside, but somewhere in those godforsaken seventeen years, I must've done at least one frickin' thing right with her?

No. I scold myself, which hasn't really happened until yesterday. One thing isn't enough. I sigh deeply, but never lose my tight grip on wheel. Beside me, Miriam's talking but I'm too absorbed in my thoughts to listen.

How could this happen?

How could this happen to a Pataki?

I still can't get over the shock. Gun. Gun. _Gun._ She must have used my old revolver. Back in my starting days as a beeper salesmen, people were always out for my throat, ready to get me alone and dead. Scared for my life, and Miriam's, I bought that gun, sleeping with it right beside me for seven straight years until I finally had a secure place as Beeper King.

**III**

I'm surrounded by a single beam of light from the overhead lamp. There are several men in the shadows. I writhe and squirm under their hard gazes. Here I am, some poor schmuck, barely 25 years old, and I'm already in trouble with loan sharks. Great. Miriam's father was right about me after all: I was going to be the doom of them all. But I keep up a good front, not letting these assholes see how much they got to me.

I'm only in my fifth year of marriage with Miriam, and have a two year old baby girl at home to take care of. I don't need this shit. All I wanted was to give my wife a good life, my kid a good start, and a nice comfortable nest egg... how'd it get to be like this? What did I do to deserve this? All I did was get into a simply betting contest, but then it got bigger, it turned into this. Now I have a big debt, some creepy guys on my back, and probably my life on the line.

"Mr. Pataki. You know why you're here, do you not?" A big guy spoke. I reconized him as the right-hand lackey of the real boss. His name was.. what was it again? Harrison? Yeah, that was it.

"N-no.." I stutter. I want to get out of here. Some guy in the back gives a laugh, and it sends a chill down my spine. My hairs on my arms raise on their ends and I sweat even more than before. Oh _god_, am I going to die tonight?

"Let me refresh your memory then, Mr. Pataki." Harrison cracks his hairy knuckles together menacingly, but I refuse to make a sound. I will not act more afraid. I will not show fear. This seems to make the guy respect me and he gives a small smile at my bravery. If only he knew how close I was to pissing my pants.

"Debts, Pataki. Debts. Very steep debts from betting. We brought you here because you were avoiding us. Why were you avoiding us and Mr. Donnahue?"

My Adam's apple bobs up and down. These guys are hardcore; real gangsters. To avoid paying off debts to him would mean death in your bed, with a single gunshot to the head. My eyes go to the man next to Harrison, the man who's silent: Mr. Donnahue. I look at him, such a short, cold man... but I can't see his face. All I see his red cigar in the dim light. I look back at Harrison.

"I-I can pay. Just give me more time." I say, my voice quivering a bit. God, keep it cool, Pataki. Don't let them see through you. Don't be weak. _Don't be weak._

"Time? We gave you time. Speaking of time, how is your dear wife doing? Miriam is her name right? And your little daughter, Olga?" A dark amused chuckle came from Harrison's lips. I clench my fists tightly, forgetting all about my previous fear.

"You leave them alone." I growl. If they mess with my family, they're fucked. I don't care who they think they are.

Harrison sees my weak spot, and he grins wider. Donnahue flicks the ash off of his huge cigar onto the concrete floor. Harrison takes a step toward me, his height intimidating mine. For the first time in my life, I realized how it felt to be shorter than another guy. It sucked. I gulped and my fists shook at my sides, remembering his implied threat. I lift my chin up and glare at him. "I said I'd pay." The men around me come closer and I'm this, this closing to losing it.

Harrison smiles and steps back, turning away. He bent down, and Donnahue whispered something into his ear. Then Harrison looked back at me and shrugged, snapping his fingers. The guys back off too. I look around, unable to believe my luck.

"Just remember, Pataki. Each day that passes by, more and more time slips. Keeping debts off until the last minute isn't wise for anyone's health, especially your little family's." With that I'm led away. After that, I stroll the streets, clutching my jacket to myself, like a security blanket. I'm so damned pissed. I said I'd pay -- so what if I'm avoiding them? Can you blame me? They're scary fuckers.

But now they've gone too far. Me, I could've handled. My family? No. No, fuck that.

Growling again, I stalk into the nearest pawn shop and pick out a black KSP-831X model revolver. Nothing big, nothing fancy -- no frills. Hell, I can barely afford rent as it is.

"Top of the line." The pawn shop guy said to me.

I nod and look intently at the black gun. Its silver trimmings glint in the yellow light of the seedy pawn shop; small, a bit banged up -- but it'd do the job.

If those men do try something, I'll have something to defend Miriam and Olga with along with myself. Robert Pataki doesn't go down easily. I'll show them.

**IV**

I put it away up in the attic, not bothering to lock it up. I knew Olga wouldn't go up there even if her life depended on it, because she was afraid of bugs and crap. And Miriam? She couldn't even make it up the stairs half the time.

But the girl.. The Girl never knew, did she? I never told her it was off-limits... hell, I forgot about the blasted thing after being left alone for so many years.

Maybe if-

Stop. I can't think like that. What Ifs are for losers, and Big Bob Pataki isn't a loser. He comes out a winner. ALWAYS.

But this time it's different. I unconsciously tighten my grip on the wheel. I had pulled into the hospital parking lot a while ago, and Miriam had gone inside ahead of me. I chose to sit here in my car. It was the only place I felt safe enough to think, to feel the things I was feeling. I know she thought I was pigheaded, but Christ almighty, I didn't want to see her. Not yet. And I didn't want to be around those quacks telling me what I should and shouldn't be doing. I can take care of myself, and she can too.

At least, I thought she could. I look at the hospital entrance and shiver.

God, you wouldn't believe how the shit was scared out of me yesterday.

**V**

I was right in front of the TV when it all happened. The Knicks were losing (again, jeez), and of course I was pissed. Slamming my drink down on the armrest, I shouted profanities at the screen. Great! Another thousand down the drain. You'd think by now I would've stopped gambling, but no... it was the only thing I could do now that I was practically swimming in the cash. And it was fun. Besides, it was my money and no stingy lawmaker was going to tell me how to spend it.

All of a sudden, I hear Miriam scream. I look up, startled, then narrow my eyes. She'd have better not have seen a mouse or some cockroach. I look over my shoulder and see some boy, around Helga's age, with glasses and a green T-shirt.. no red.. I shake my head. Kids today with their badass tie-dye methods. He gives me a brief look, before going to the phone. I hear him talk softly into it. What is it with this kid? Wait a minute. What the fuck is he doing in MY house? Shit! The gun is up in the attic! Of all the times to get robbed and to be unprotected!

'WHAT THE HELL? What are you-" I begin, but I'm distracted by what he's saying.

"Hello, I'd like to report an attempted suicide.." I hear him say. My eyes widen slightly and I'm about to yell at this pansy-assed kid who dared to break in then make prank phone calls to 911 and kick his sorry frickin' ass to Juvie.

I hear footsteps and groan mentally. Not another kid. I look and it's that Alfred fella.

"Alfred! What are you doing here?!" I yelled at him. He looks down and I look down; immediately it registers in my mind. The girl. Helga. My daughter. Instantly my paternal instincts spring right into action, ready to kill whoever did this. Mainly Alfred. That fucker will be sorry he ever laid a hand on a Pataki.

"What the fuck did you do to her, you parentless little shit?!" I glared at Alfred. Helga looked horrible. A wound to the head, blood was easily gushing out, and onto Alfred's shirt. God, what did that orphan and the other kid do to her? I'll kill them -- I'll fucking MURDER them.

"Nothing! She attempted suicide!" He yelled right back to me. I saw that he held her tighter to him, and couldn't help but blanch and feel the anger rush to me. He's lying! The girl is much tougher than that! She wouldn't..she wouldn't dare attempt suicide.. no.

"What the hell do you mean she fuckin' attempted suicide? The girl wouldn't do that!"

"With all due respect, sir," He spat out the last word, glaring back at me. "I'm afraid she has. She's only alive because of him." He gave me a sort of smart look that I wanted to punch off his face. But something made me stop.

I leaned against the wall. No, it couldn't be. "H-how did she?" I trailed off, not wanting to say that word, that god-awful word.

"She tried to shoot herself."

"Shoot..?" No. No, it couldn't. Please, God, don't let it be true. I put a hand to my forehead, my whole body shaking. No, it can't be. It just can't be. I must've been talking outloud, because the other kid answers me.

"Yeah by a black revolver.." I hear the other kid on the telephone say. My eyes widen, and I stumble into my retreat, my place, my chair. I didn't really notice my fists were clenching so tight that they were beginning to draw blood from my palms.

"MY BABY!" I heard Miriam yell, then everything was quiet.

After a few minutes, the ambulance came and took the girl to Emergency room, and that's how it went. Those two guys, they were the ones to go with them -- not us. No, we were all too shocked to even move. Hell, the only thing we could do was sit and barely comprehend what just happened. As soon as Miriam got her bearings, she called Olga, sobbing the entire time. Olga got on a flight down, was here by midnight -- but it was too late to visit _her -- the girl._

But I didn't care. I was too absorbed in my thoughts. Again, I hold back a laugh at that. Me thinking hard. Something new _does_ happen each day.

**VI**

I'm still in the car.

It's hot, and stuffy, but Christ, way better than the hell it was gonna be in there. The hospital is still before me, looming like some giant and I was just David, trying to figure out how to smack the bejesus out of it. What hope did I have of bringing that behemoth down?

I put my forehead on the steering wheel, its hard American-made metal pressing into my tough skin. I didn't want to go in, I didn't want to see their faces... her face. I felt guilty enough as it is. God, they're gonna find out who that gun belongs to. They're gonna question me... and it's gonna lead back to everything.

Miriam is going to be so disappointed. And Olga? What would she think?

And then I realize something... it wasn't about me. Fuck, Pataki, what have you been doing all this time? Waiting for an answer to come out and grab you by the balls?

I growl, and push open my door, and kick it closed. I stomped across the roadway, not even caring if I got hit by a car. For all I've done (and didn't do) I deserve worse.

My thoughts go back to Helga.

How could so much go so wrong in little less than a few days? This shitstorm that hit the fan -- could I have done something? Or was it all just beyond hope like everything in this crapshoot we call life?

I remember when Miriam first told me she was pregnant with the girl.

With Helga... _my_ baby girl.

**VII**

I look at my daughter, Olga, fondly as she eats her cereal. Barely ten, she's the apple of my eye. Winning competitions left and right, A's only; she did much better than I ever did as a kid and I always made sure she knew it.

I look to my right side, and Miriam's eating a lot. Well, she has to. She's got a Pataki in her. We Pataki men like food like we like our women. Tender and good-looking.

Miriam eats her second steak that morning. She has some of the strangest cravings, but I'm happy to give her anything for my baby boy. Anything to help my boy get stronger. I'm still overjoyed. A boy.. Don't get me wrong. I love Olga, but a boy to follow in my footsteps. Name one father wouldn't be happy?

"Oh, Bee, I think the baby's kicking!" Miriam cried as she held her already bulging stomach. I jump up, from surprise mostly, and instantly put my hand on the middle of her stomach. I almost flinched.

"The boy's got a kick. He'll make linebacker no sweat! He's a Pataki all right!" I gave off a chuckle. The nearly gave me a bruise with that kick. I knew within a moment that this boy would be my pride and joy.

**VIII**

We were going to name him after me, you know.

He was going to be my namesake..

My legacy.

And now what do I got?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I went through the automatic doors, feeling the cool rush of air stick to my hot skin. I pass by people who looked at me, as if blaming me, as if they knew everything. I put my hands in my pockets and slump my shoulders, walking to the desk.

I didn't want to be here.

I just wanted to run away, go away from all of this. It wasn't my problem. This wasn't my problem.

I pause when I see a man holding a little girl who cried into his shirt. A father and a daughter. The guy stroked his girl's back, shushing her and I get uncomfortable and move on. Why couldn't I have that? Why was it so hard for me?

I look over my shoulder at the family again and get very sad -- Christ, what was I thinking? It was my problem; anyway I looked at it, Helga was my goddamn responsibility. I didn't want to admit it, I didn't want to be attached to her, but shit... I was, no matter what.

How'd this all start anyhow? Was it because she wasn't what I wanted to be... from the moment she was born and from then on?

**IX**

"That's it, Miriam. Push.. Heave.. ho.." I said as I held her hand and a camcorder in another. Miriam was cursing like a sailor, which surprised me. She didn't do that last time she was in labor. Maybe that was the difference with boys' and girls' labor.

"I'M..TRYING.. BOB..." She said through gritted teeth as she pushed even more.

Woah. She was_ pissed_.

"Mrs. Pataki, we're going to have to perform a cesarean section if you can't push the baby out in the next few minutes." A nurse with blond hair said to Miriam. My hand felt numb as she squeezed harder. The blood circulation to that hand was long gone. I looked at it and grimaced at the ugly purple shade. God, who knew Miriam had this sort of grip? I was almost sort of impressed.

"Don't worry, Miriam. Push, push, remember your Lamaze classes we went too. I didn't stay through three weeks of that torture with you just for it to be all over with a C-section. Push for our son."

Miriam gave a few grunts of pain as she pushed more. Then she opened her mouth to scream. "I SWEAR BEE, WHEN I'M DONE WITH THIS BABY, I'LL MAKE YOU FUCKING PAY FOR ALL THIS DAMN PAIN! YOU ASS--ooooh!" Miriam gave off a moan as she gave one last push. I felt truly scared for my life right then and there. Dear God, I was never going to get this woman pregnant again. Besides, after this one, there wouldn't be any need: a boy and girl. Boom. Perfect family.

Sounds of a baby crying and a few slapping noises awoke me from my daze. Miriam let go of my hand but I flexed it and knew it'd be okay in a couple of minutes. I hope. I looked at the doctor, holding my baby.

"Congratulations, . You have a healthy, strong might I add," The doctor rubbed his cheek where there was a small red mark, "baby girl.."

My world came crashing down within moments. Wait a minute... Girl? GIRL??!

"What do you mean GIRL?!" I yelled as the baby girl was handed to a panting Miriam. Miriam looked disbelievingly at the baby before smiling, and cooed at her, giving the baby girl her pointer finger to play with.

"We're not keeping her." I stated as I looked hatefully down at 'cute bundle of joy'.

"But, Mr. Pataki, why not? The baby's completely-" I cut off the doctor before he could finish.

"We're not keeping her. Simple as that. There's no way in hell that we're taking a girl home. I came here for a boy, and we're going to have a boy. Maybe there's another one still in Miriam."

"Mr. Pataki, you're being highly unreasonable. You know-"

"I said we're not keeping her." My voice a stony cold. But I knew how ridiculous I sounded, like some moron. Course we were going to keep the baby -- but jeez, come on! After nine months of thinking it was a boy and the thing comes out missing a few important parts, can you not blame me for being a LITTLE disappointed?

"Oh yes, we are." Miriam said coolly, interrupting my 'friendly' discussion with the doc.

"Miriam, I thought I made it clear. We're not-"

"We're keeping her, Robert Pataki. And there's nothing you can do about it." Miriam held the baby protectively to her chest. I widen my eyes, knowing that tone wasn't to be argued with.

"Fine." I put my arms across my chest, unhappy that I didn't get my way. Miriam, on the other hand, rocked the crying little mess as if the thing were the next coming.

"Can I ask what's the baby's name, Mrs. Pataki." The young blond nurse takes out her clipboard and pen, and I look at the baby and Miriam. The baby has blond hair, and a ..unibrow? Huh. Whaddya know. Maybe it is a Pataki afterall, if only the unibrow part. Miriam pauses, trying to think. After so long, we were unprepared for this moment. All we really had in mind was "Robert, Junior." Then I looked at the baby.

"If we're gonna keep it," I growled. "Then I might as well be the one to name it."

"Alright, Bee," Miriam smiles at me, as if she knows what I'm up to. I give a deep frown. I look at the kid and a smile twitches at my lips. "Helga.." I said. "Middle name Geraldine."

"After your mom," Miriam squeezes my hand, knowing what me giving the name to this kid meant.

I pull my hand away and try to shrug. "Yeah, well, it's a good name."

Miriam smiles at me, and I just shake my head, knowing what she's going to pull on me. "She's yours, not mine, Miriam."

"Whatever you say, Bee."

**X**

I push the elevator button to get to the fourth floor. The bell dings and the doors close, and I close my eyes. A Pataki isn't afraid, a Pataki is brave -- my father's words are still in my head after all these years and I nod, stuck in a military fashion. But good god, why am I so scared of arriving to the fourth floor? Why am I terrified of going into room 415? Why is a Pataki second guessing himself all of a sudden?

I don't know what came over me to give her a name, let alone one after my mother. I want so much to cry. I haven't been a good father at all. Maybe to Olga, but not to Helga. All because I wanted a boy instead.

A thought occurs to me: Would I take it all back to make her boy?

No. The more I think on it, the more I see, I really see that Helga was my pride and joy, though I didn't realize it at the time.

That Shakespeare play, the one where she got the starring role with that Arbuckle kid. God, she played so beautifully that it brought tears to my eyes. But what do I do? I forget it. I push it back to the farthest reaches of my mind. Olga may have been perfect, but Helga had a soul. At least one that I think she has. Everytime I heard her sing one of her poems in her room, my heart would swell up in pride, but I'd push it down, and tell her to shut it up. God, why did I do that? So many times, so many times I just wanted to tell her how I felt.

But I couldn't never get over the fact that she wasn't what I asked for... she didn't come in a pretty package like Olga.

All she wanted for me was to notice her. Me and Miriam, instead of attention, hardly gave a hoot about her. Now, it's different. But the damage has been done. I would give anything for a time machine so that she could be my little girl again and we could start over. Just to be a dad and for her to be my little Helga.

But it's too late for that, right?

Why didn't I do something?

Why couldn't I ask one lousy question? "Are you alright?" That's it. That's all there was to it.

No, I'm just some blowhard who doesn't know what to do when it comes down to these emotions. I spent half my life trying to fight these feelings, and look at me: weak as a kitten, as if I were some pansy preschooler instead of Big Bob Pataki.

The doors ding open and I walk very slowly down the hallway toward Room 415. My shoes feel like they've been filled with cement, and I'm just trudging forward to my doom.

What could I have done to prevent this from happening?

Hell, why couldn't I even see it happening in the first place? There weren't any signs, no.. nothing.

Wasn't there?

**XI**

I watched Helga as she walked up the stairs. She hasn't really talked for days now. Not even yell at Miriam or respond to me. I mean, at first I thought it was disrespect, but I don't know anymore.

Not that I care or anything.

Well, I do actually. I care a lot. But not like I can really tell her that. Not like she would take me seriously; the girl's got a mouth on her. Sarcastic little smartass. I'm still looking up the stairs and then walk in the kitchen. Miriam's cleaning off the plates into the trash; she took the girl's plate which is filled to the brim. I scowl. There the girl goes, wasting food. It's like she hasn't eaten in a while. If she keeps going on that way, she'll just be skin and bones. And then who'll take her off of my hands?

I wonder if I should talk to her. I shake my head. What am I thinking? She's Miriam's kid, not mine. Why should I care about the girl?

I walk up the upstairs, and enter the bathroom. I ignore the slight tinge of red in the bathtub and the wastebasket full of bloody tissues. Miriam or the girl probably started their 'monthly visits', I rationalize with myself. Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense. I open up the medicine cabinet, and my razor clatters out into the sink. God, I need to get this fixed. Miriam's been bitching about it forever.

I shove it back in and walk out into the hallway, passing the girl's bedroom. I stop in my tracks. I briefly listened to the music outside of her room. It sounds so sad.. so depressing.. so angry.. all at the same time. Not at all like Olga's music when she was all weepy; just angry and sad. It almost made me want to cry when I heard the lyrics. Key word being almost. I sped up; not wanting to hear anymore.

She made me feel so uncomfortable, this girl of mine.

**XII**

After that, only two days later, she did it.

She tried to kill herself.

The door's in front of me and I lean against the wall across from it, watching it as if it was gonna bite me.

I can't go in. Not after remembering all of that shit. And do what? See her face? Act like it's going to be okay?

Where the fuck was Miriam? There was no way I was going in alone. I run a hand through my hair and lick my lips. Geez Louise, how was I going to do this?

Maybe I should have had that talk with her. And be the father I was supposed to be.

But a part of me still wonders. Is it too late to be her father?

I look longingly at the door, and my heart twangs at that chance.

I hope not.

But I did do one thing right as a father. One thing that sticks out in my mind.

**XIII**

It was two weeks since Helga was born. No one could hardly get any sleep in the house. Miriam was already dead tired; her hair was all frazzled, there were deep circles under her eyes, and she smelled like she hadn't taken a shower in a while. Olga announced one morning that she was taking a vacation from the house and sleeping over her friend's house because she couldn't sleep with all the crying going on. I can't say I blame her. I'm almost tempted to go to a motel and rent a room. Almost.

Suddenly I hear a bunch of bawling, and I groan. Jesus Christ, does that thing ever shut off? I put a pillow over my head and groan. Not again. The girl was crying again. For Pete's sake, it's midnight, for crying out loud! Why is she torturing me like this?! Doesn't she know I have to get up in the morning to put bread on the table?

"Miriam. Go quiet that girl down," I mutter to Miriam. She groans in response, but refuses to wake up. I roll over when I realize she wasn't budging.

"Miriam, wake up. Miriam?" I question. Miriam is snoring on the side of me, and it is my turn to groan now. Great. Just great. She must have taken sleeping pills. Thanks a lot, Miriam.

I close my eyes, and try to ignore the girl's crying. Maybe she'll get tired of screaming her lungs out. Maybe she'll even self-implode from the effort. After a few minutes, it doesn't look like it was a possibility at all... Growling, I turn to Miriam.

"Wake up, Miriam! The girl's crying again. Miriam!" I hiss in her ear. She moans and opens a sleepy eye at me.

"What, Bee?"

"The girl. She's crying. Go and make her stop."

"But, Bee, I'm so tired." She yawned and put her head down on the pillow. "You take care of it."

"But-but..how?!" I yell, feeling panicky. I get up and I'm tempted to drag her out of bed. I don't like the idea of being with a baby girl alone, without Miriam. Geez, wasn't this girl supposed to be hers only? As in I'm not at all involved? "I'll just make it worse!"

"Read to her. It calms her down." Miriam again yawns and hides herself under the blankets. I narrow my eyes at her. Damn it all. Yet, deciding to do Miriam a favor, I grabbed my wrestling magazine, and stomped over to the nursery.

Opening the door, I hear the girl's cries quiet down a bit. Thank God. I go in, and see her straining to see who it is in her little crib.

"It's me, girl."

She coos in response. I roll my eyes, but it sort of touched my heart with that soft sound she made. I shake it off. Getting out my new "Wrestling Today" magazine, I turn on the lamplight, and skip to page twenty-five.

"You're lucky, tonight girl. They just issued a special on the "Grubber vs. Terminator". That was a lot of action in that fight. Happened the day before you were born. I got a three thousand out of it too." I say as I skim through the article. I peek inside the crib and she's wide awake, looking like she's hanging on my every word. I puff up my chest, and feel important. Finally, she gets who's the boss around here.

I read on and on, knowing that the girl loved every minute of it, as if she could understand what I was saying. When I looked up, the girl was fast asleep. For the first time in two weeks, she was sleeping.

I smiled and left the room. "Maybe she is a Pataki after all, if she loves wrestling." I mutter. I shake my head, and go back to sleep for once.

**XIV**

Yeah, maybe I did do something right in all those years. But not enough. From this day forward, I swear I'll make it up to Helga. No matter what. I'll be the best father I can for my baby if it is too late.

I breathe in and open the door, turning the handle.

No matter what, I was a Pataki -- and she was too.

I had to face my problems, then so did she.

And I was going to give her hell for giving me hell. Yes, siree.

I enter and see that the girl is sleeping. She's hooked up like some machine and I shiver at the reality; so she really did do it... so she really is hurt.

So it really is my fault.

There's some kid sitting by her, staring at her like some little creep. I puff up my chest and walk over to him, avoiding looking at her and those wires. "Amscray, bucko," I said.

He looks up at me through his glasses with that sad face that I want to punch for some reason, and I narrow my eyes. "What?"

"I'm not going to leave her," he said to me. He actually had the gall to say that to me, about my daughter.

"Listen, kid-"

"No, you listen, Mr. Pataki." He stands up and grabs my arm. Kid practically drags me out back in the hall! "I'm the one who saved your daughter. The least you could do is act a bit grateful. I've been the one here for her since the beginning." He stops, and looks back into the room, back at my girl. I shove the little prick against the wall.

"I don't care if you're Genghis fucking Khan. No one tells Big Bob what to do -- specially when it comes down to her."

"It figures that even after she tries to kill herself, Helga's daddy wouldn't give two shits about her," he snarls at me.

I lift up my hand to punch the little geek into oblivion. "Hit me for all I care. Then they'll just put me in the bed next to her." What WAS this little freak on?

"Not if I have anything to say about it." And bring down my hand. Someone grabs it and I realize it's Miriam.

"Bee, can I talk to you for a second?" Oh boy. I give one last glare at the moron who dared to stand up to me and insult me like I was some nancypants before following my wife. We go round the corner and I look at her.

"What?"

She grabs my ear and I wince. "Ow, MIRIAM!"

"Robert Pataki, is that any way to treat our daughter's rescuer?"

"He started it."

She gave a harder twist on my ear. "MIRIAM!"

"Let's get one thing straight, Robert. If there's one person in the world who we're going to be thankful for the rest of our lives to, it's that _gentleman_. Without him, Helga would be dead." She lets go of my ear, and hugs herself. "Can you imagine that? Dead, on our roof, just-" Oh no, now she's going to cry. I look around to see if someone's going to see me get all sensitive and shit, and sigh, putting my arms around my wife.

"It'll be alright, Miriam." But will it?

She begins to sob into my neck and I groan at her overflowing of emotion. At least Helga was the only girl in the family who could keep it in.

Then again, look where that took her.

I hold Miriam to me, hugging her like there's no tomorrow. Behind my eyes, I don't want to admit it, but there's tears too. God, I'd do anything to keep them from falling but the truth is I'm just not that strong anymore -- maybe I never was to begin with. "I'm sorry," I whisper into her hair. What am I sorry for? Am I even saying it to Miriam... or do I just say it to her, when I want to say it to someone else?

Someone in room 415.

**XV**

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AN: **Revised January 2010.**

**This will be the last of the POV chapters for a long time if not forever! **-- I guess I just wanted to focus on the three men in Helga's life: Brainy, Arnold, and well.. her father, Bob. Now that I have fleshed out all of that material, I'm putting down the "I"'s and "my"s for a while.**  
**

To be honest, the way I wrote Bob made me love him. Yes, he's almost entirely unsympathetic in the series (except for a few exceptional moments)... but we never know what molded him into who he was, what was the driving force behind his behavior with her. We sort of just see it from Helga's point of view. For all we know, things could've gotten better between the two as she got older -- but hey, this could just be me talking. I never really had a father growing up and I've always idealized the role of fathers.

The flashbacks are my idea of what happened during the pregnancy and the labor, and everything involving Helga when she was young. My theory is that Bob was impersonal because he wanted a boy but instead was given a girl, and for that he shunned Helga, never giving her the right attention, thus leading to her bully facade so she would get negative attention at school instead of positive because she wanted to be remembered then leading to Arnold liking Helga, because Helga never showed herself in a true light. And that leaded to her attempting suicide.

The song is one by Kelly Clarkson, called "Haunted." I like to think part of that song refers to the ENORMOUS wake-up call that Big Bob Pataki got from Helga's suicide attempt. It's a really pretty song.

**Please review!**

-BG


	6. As Usual

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold! characters/ideas. I do claim credit for the writing below, however. Please be cautioned that this chapter is rated T for a reason for the "possible strong but non-explicit adult themes, references to violence, drugs, and strong coarse language" and adult themes such as suicide and mild sexuality. If you are not the recommended age limit for this rating, please read at your own risk.

_Italics_=Thoughts, if more than one word in a row.

**Bold**=Written, if more than one word in a row.

* * *

**Dreams of Blue Skies**

**Chapter Six**

**As Usual**

I see your soul

It's kind of gray

You see my heart

You look away

You see my wrist

I know your pain

I know your purpose on your plane

Don't say a last prayer

-"What's This Life For?" Creed

* * *

**I**

She felt sick, as usual.

She looked at herself in the mirror and saw a bloated body that looked like her except twice her real size. She leaned in, trying to examine herself more clearly. Why did she even bother? She'd never be good enough, not when she was like _this_. No, this wouldn't do. She had to change this somehow. She looked in the mirror, focusing on the background behind her, at the tool she was about to use. She tapped her fingernails against the tile, a bit anxious. She had to do it. But whenever she did it, she never saw results, and only felt fatter than she did before. It was a neverending circle she was chained to; a social contract with a disease she couldn't break.

But she _had_ to do it, her happy compulsion.

She had to, if she wanted any chance of him seeing her for what she really was... what she pretended to be.

She turned around and looked down at the toilet. It had to happen. It _must_.

She paused to make sure her father didn't hear her; it wouldn't do if someone ever found out what she did when no one was around. Prying eyes and ears would doom her -- she knew what she had. But she couldn't stop it, especially now. Especially after the news about Helga.

No one had even bothered to call her. Not even her dear, precious Arnold. Some boyfriend he turned out to be. She couldn't blame him though... if she was in his position, she'd forget about herself too. Now they were there, all bundled up together so cozy, so intimate at the hospital -- all a friendly bunch, but it was a news flash for her: she wasn't a part of them. Maybe she never was.

After all, why would they want to be friends with someone like her?

Someone as fake and brittle as Lila Sawyer?

She knelt down on the bathroom floor and positioned her face over the toilet, bringing a finger up to her mouth, and she inhaled it down her throat. After some gagging, the desired result happened and she coughed, wiping her mouth.

She supposed it was her punishment for bringing this all about. What was she thinking? Such a stupid girl. Such a stupid, stupid girl. Lila Sawyer is no main character in a romance story, so why pose as one? She promised Helga so long ago she wouldn't touch her ivory statue of love, but she did anyway, like the boy with wings who flew too close to the sun. She was burned now, and they all hated her.

Why didn't she ever listen to herself?

Why did she hope for something better than what she actually deserved?

She bent over again, making herself sick once more. She groaned, feeling real nausea now after that second bout of sickness. This was her punishment, she was sure. How else could God have told her how imperfect she was by putting her in a perpetual situation of misery and disappointment? She wasn't perfect, and it was pure hubris to act otherwise. For what? For friends? The friends that forgot about her, but didn't apparently forget about Helga? She looked down at the bowl's contents, feeling a glee at what she expelled. The poison called food, masked as nourishment, gone from her body. All those calories, all that fat, gone.

No one knew this about her; no one would ever know as long as she was careful about it. As long as she smiled, pretended that everything was okay, that everything was perfect, it would be.

_She_ would be.

It was just a matter of time before everyone else would see that too.

**II**

Phoebe played with the letter, not wanting to think about its contents.

The others around her stared at their own letters, all raging with curiosity (and guilt) as they compared their letters to each other's. Harold tapped his letter against his knee, something he did whenever he was nervous. Rhonda began biting her nails, a childhood habit she thought she quit but had resurfaced during this traumatic and shocking event. Her letter was between her thighs, innocuous-looking as ever. The rest of the kids had left earlier, all making their own excuses. None were allowed to see Helga in any case, and there was little point in staying as long as they did for someone they barely knew (and couldn't visit.) Only Arnold, Gerald, and these three remained in the hospital. Gerald was beside Phoebe, awkwardly offering comfort -- but she paid no mind, too distracted by her grief and guilt to be flattered at the attention.

Instead, Phoebe focused on the small rust-colored corner of the envelope. It was her blood, all the cells shriveled up and oxidized.

All dead.

She recalled the exact moment when she got this letter -- this letter that shattered her fragile, crystalline world. She was in her bedroom when her mother called her down, revealing the letter. It was half past ten, getting to be the afternoon soon, starting off to be a normal, usual sort of day. She looked at the addressee, and widened her small eyes. She adjusted her glasses, and smiled at her mother, thanking her. Her mother gave her a knowing look; she felt the significance of the event even before she knew its contents. A letter from an estranged friend was something very precious to a teenage girl.

She opened it quickly, wincing. Phoebe's blood soaked nicely into the side of the paper, leaving a crimson spot. Sucking on her finger, she opened the letter's folds with one hand, careful not to cut herself again. Her eyes skimmed across a couple of lines before widening, and letting the letter fall to the gently to floor. As she picked up the phone, trying to dial the right number, her mind was a jumbled box of thoughts. They were little photographs of memories that slid out and floated to the floor next to the letter, all of them of Helga.

And now here she was, looking into her box of thoughts again, trying to pick out the memory that was the start of this. That was the end of this.

Now, at the other side of the hospital while her friend struggled for her life and strained to breathe, she had to wonder: How did she miss it?

How _could_ she miss it?

She must've known deep down that this was happening. Or at least a distinct possibility that it could. Suicide was so common for teenagers -- God, how could she be so stupid? Phoebe wasn't sure if she was calling herself stupid... or the girl she was here for.

She put a hand to her chest, wincing. Someone's hand was on her shoulder, possibly interpreting her action as an act of emotional pain. God, she hoped that was so. She closed her eyes, and wanted to get up. It was almost time for her to take her medication and she didn't want to do that in front of them here... especially not in front of _him_. Her eyes slid carefully to Gerald; it was his hand on her shoulder, comforting her so gently. As if she deserved it. He looked uncomfortable, not exactly at ease touching her.

She gave a small smile, and put a hand over his on her shoulder. "I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," she said simply, and left it at that. She didn't want to go into it, not now. She just had to keep a hold of herself just a little while longer..

Why had they fought a year ago?

Phoebe had told Arnold it was over Helga's newfound (and disgusting) habit of smoking, but it was so much more than that. These things are never so cut and dry, not like how we want them to be. A difference of opinion is one thing, but Helga made _sure _to push her away, push everyone away from her that could've touched her in the simplest fashion. And Phoebe just let it stay that way until now.

It was a simple fact that over the years their friendship hung on a slight thin thread that could have snapped at any given notice. Was it her fault it came to this? Or was it her estranged friend?

Or was it just a matter of time, the teacher of all, that really told volumes of what their friendship really was: a sham, a farce, more of a front for a employer-employee type of relationship than anything else. She hadn't minded it for so long; no one else would befriend her, and really, what did she have to offer with what she knew? She was probably better off in Helga's shadow, doing her awful biddings, than in the rough jungle of the playground. She wouldn't have survived as she was, not emotionally at least.

Maybe she used Helga like Helga used her. She restrained a laugh: theirs was a symbiotic relationship. Helga provided her with the distraction and she provided Helga with the means. She even liked being useful as she was to Helga... it gave her a goal, something to live for, to strive for while she waited. And yes, at times, doing her bidding was rather fun; being bad (or serving the bad) had its perks.

It wasn't that she never wanted to stand up for herself. She did. She just couldn't find it in herself to really find why she deserved any respect. Even now, even now she felt as low as the dirty carpet her feet hovered over. As low as the very foundation, where the worms wriggled and died and ate each other.

How could she stop anything? What sort of friend was she? So useless, so weak, only preparing for inevitabilities instead of possibilities. A dreamless calculation she was, such a pale, shaky thing that didn't know the heart if it came up and killed her.

Then, so far ago, maybe she could have changed fate.

Maybe.

She had led Arnold to believe that their fight wasn't as serious as it actually was. In truth, she had no real words to convey how disturbing it was on so many levels... it was just easier to lie by omission, even to herself. But now that was all different, wasn't it? It was the careful negligence of the truth that brought them to this precarious point in the first place. No, it wouldn't do to deny the truth any longer. She remembered it like it happened just yesterday, so fresh in her mind that the pain was still there, a faint bruise on her heart.

**III**

"What are you doing?"

Helga looked up and flicked the ash off her cigarette, burning herself in the process. "Ow, shit," she mumbled, putting the fresh wound in her mouth. "Nothing."

Phoebe's mouth was agape. "Are you _smoking_, Helga?"

"No, I'm reciting the Declaration of Independence."

Phoebe rolled her eyes and covered her mouth and nose. Even smelling this stuff was terrible; it hurt her lungs and made her heart work harder than it needed to. She coughed a bit. "Well, what brought this on?"

"Just felt like getting a new habit."

It figures that Helga would pick up a rebellious bad habit to piss off people with, but did she have to pick something so disgusting over the summer? They had been separated for almost three months and school was to start in a few weeks. At first when Phoebe got back from her Scholars' Camp, she didn't recognize Helga at all dressed in black. The only thing that gave it away was the pink bow on her head; everything else had altered. She was much skinnier than before, almost a deathly lean, and she wore so much make up that it looked almost-clownish. She didn't want to comment on the abrupt change for fear of rocking the proverbial boat their friendship was in lately, but she couldn't help but wonder what set it off. After all, what could've happened in a matter of months to push her in this depressing direction?

She sighed. She'd probably never know the way Helga kept her secrets under lock and key. "Where did you even get the cigarettes from?"

"Not every place cards, Pheebs," Helga said, rolling her eyes in the most blase way, as if Phoebe was boring her. Phoebe narrowed her eyes.

"I don't understand. Is this because of Arnold?"

Helga stiffened at the mention of the boy she desperately loved. "No, no it isn't." She took out the cigarette and stuck it underneath her heel, crushing the butt. "Why would it be about him anyway?" But both knew how she felt about him; it was useless to lie.

"It is, isn't it?"

"No."

"Why don't you just tell him, Helga?"

"Why don't you tell Gerald how much you like him then? You go first."

Phoebe blushed, red in the face at the mention of the boy she had a crush on since elementary school. "Helga, it's not the same and you know it."

"Not the same? Oh, so everything I do is different, huh?"

"That's not what I said-"

"That is _exactly_ what you said."

Helga turned around sharply, opening her backpack with zeal as she fished around for her cigarette pack. Out went a lighter and a few other miscelleanous items she failed to notice. Phoebe's eyebrow arched as she bent down to hold an object that was tossed out in the frantic search for nicotine.

"...What is this?" Phoebe held up the small quarter-sized bag. Helga's eyes went wide and the pack of cigarettes dropped from her hand. It fell to the ground with a light thud, ignored by both girls as the two pairs of eyes stared at the horrific object in Phoebe's hand.

"It's nothing," Helga stammered, reaching out a hand to take it before Phoebe realized what she held. Phoebe deftly avoided this maneuver and inspected it closely, her mouth turning into a small 'o' and her eyes going wide.

"Oh my god... these are _drugs._" Suddenly Phoebe held them at arm's length from her, as it was a disgusting rat instead of an illegal substance. "What is this?" She looked at it again. No drug was very familiar to her, at least to first-hand knowledge... but she was a human encyclopedia and she recognized it from pictures she saw before. "Is this heroin? Where did you get this, Helga?"

"Nowhere, it's not mine." She snatched the bag from her friend's loose grip and shoved it in her bag, along with other items that spilled on the concrete. "I'm just holding it for a friend."

"What friend?"

Helga glared at Phoebe and zipped up her backpack defiantly. "You know, contrary to fucking popular belief, I do have friends beside you. I'm not _so_ pathetic as to have one friend in the entire world."

"I didn't say that. Don't deflect from the issue--where did you get that stuff? Why do you even have it on you?"

"Nowhere!" Helga repeated, backing away from the now inflamed shorter girl.

"Don't give me that, Helga! Drugs don't just pop out from thin air. Do you know what that stuff could do to you?"

Helga's gaze hardened. "Listen, I get that you have to act like you're worried about me and everything for the sake of appearances, but you can stop pretending, Phoebe. I know you don't want me threatening your little honor roll status and your sparkling reputation."

Phoebe reeled back in shock. "...Excuse me?" she squeaked, stunned by her best friend's words. Was Helga accusing of her of being a snob just because she didn't approve of recreational drug use? This was beyond ridiculous. Helga, meanwhile, looked triumphant that she managed to get to her friend.

"Yeah, you heard me. So can the lecture for someone who cares because even if this stuff was mine, your opinion wouldn't matter two shits to me." Helga turned her back on her best friend, preparing to walk away.

"Is that so," Phoebe said, still getting over the words said before. "What happened to you, Helga?" It was an innocent question, and Phoebe was sincere in asking it. She failed to see how the girl she knew almost all her life could change in just one summer.

But the question had an entirely different effect on Helga, who whipped around to face Phoebe with an almost black hatred in her eyes. "What happened to me? _What happened to me_, you ask?" She grabbed the girl by the collar. "That girl that was your friend, she's gone, okay? You will never know what happened to her, you bitch." She held Phoebe up, shaking her slightly. Phoebe winced, her chest heaving and she could barely breathe. "So fuck you, okay? _Fuck. Y__ou_!"

"Why don't you be honest for once?" Phoebe said, surprising herself with her bravery (or was it foolishness?) She couldn't tell at this point with the words coming out so fast like bullets in a gun, and there they were in a shooting contest. Even so, her voice was so small, so weak compared to the strong girl who held her in her vice-like grip.

"Honest?" Helga let the smaller girl go, realizing what she was doing. She took a step back from Phoebe, obviously trying to contain her rage. Her own hands wrapped around her arms, squeezing at the skin until it was a dark red. "You don't know anything about honesty," she spat.

Still not deterred, she fought Helga back with her words. She held her chest gingerly, wincing. "Drugs won't give you the courage to tell someone you love them."

Helga started to laugh, and shook her head. "I told you this wasn't about Arnold, Pheebs." There was something sad in her voice. "It's about destroying what I once was... it's about killing what I've become."

Phoebe took a step toward her, Helga's cryptic words sending a shiver down her spine with their hidden promise. "I don't understand."

"Hah," she said. "Story of my life."

"Helga, please... I'm_ trying_ to understand. Why won't you tell me what happened to you?"

"Since when do you care? Since when does anyone care?"

"Helga-"

"No," she cut off her friend. "I had enough people lie to me these days. I'm tired of it. Where do you get off, Pheebs, telling me what to do?"

"Aren't we friends?" She cried, her chest aching. "I thought-"

"You thought what? We'd be _Best Friends Forever_? Ha! We'd have sleepovers, having a Betty Crocker cook-off? Criminey, I don't know what's more ridiculous: my life or yours. Look at you, stuck in your books and worried about perfect attendance, like that shit actually matters in the end. Why don't you get a _life_, Phoebe?"

Phoebe gripped her sleeves, her fingernails pinching into her delicate skin. Helga continued her harsh words. "Why don't you just fuck off? You're not my mom so stop acting like an old bag. Gerald'll never notice you that way."

"Shut up!" Phoebe yelled, putting her hands over her ears. Tears were at the corners of her eyes, stinging her very soul. _Get a life_, Helga said. She made it sound so easy. She ducked her head, her glasses covering her eyes thankfully. Even so, she wanted to argue back but she took it. She deserved these words that stung her so -- they were her punishment, but for what? Some wrong she did, she was sure.

"Face it, he won't ever look at you, he won't ever notice you, he won't ever see you... just like Arnold will never look at me." Helga paused, looking at down at her torn up sneakers. "At least you've got a chance, though. Stop wasting your time."

_Stop wasting your time_. Her words only mocked Phoebe with their hollow meaning; there was no point in even trying.

"Helga," Phoebe said, slightly hiccuping from the stress of the confrontation. "Helga, why are you doing this?"

"Because..." She looked into her small friend's brown eyes. "It needs to be done."

"You're such a coward," Phoebe said.

Suddenly Phoebe was pressed against the wall, her whole body squeezed uncomfortably against the hard brick; if she were any more malleable, her insides would be coming out of her ends like a human toothpaste. Phoebe stared into Helga's eyes and saw so much pain in those blue eyes, so much hurt and hatred and bitterness. It was like a visual poison that weighed her soul down. Helga breathed in and out, trying to control herself. She let go of Phoebe who slid down the wall and onto the ground and looked up at her friend through her fogged up glasses. Then Helga hit herself on the arm and then in the head. She backed away from Phoebe with regret.

"God dammit," she mumbled, fumbling for cigarettes out of her pack. She shakily lit one and Phoebe coughed slightly from the smoke, her chest aching. She marveled at her friend who went through a rage and then slid almost effortlessly into a passive role. Did she have _any_ control over this behavior?

Only a few months did this. Only a few months apart had set off this change. What had happened? Her mother, her father, her sister -- did they have anything to do with this? She ventured a tentative guess and tried to sympathize with her friend, unwilling to be scared off so easily.

"Helga, I know you're going through a tough time-"

"SHUT THE HELL UP!" Helga roared at Phoebe, who stumbled back in surprise. Helga kicked a nearby trashcan onto its side and loomed ominously over the frightened girl, still on the dirty floor. "You don't know any-" She stopped and looked at the shock-stricken Phoebe. She huffed and ran a hand through her blond locks, tugging at the ends. "You don't know shit about me, Phoebe. You don't know crap-diddly. Just stop trying, and worry about your own god damn life for once." With that she threw down her half finished cigarette to the ground, crushed it with her heel, and walked away.

Phoebe narrowed her eyes, and called after Helga, her anger getting the best of her. "FINE!" Her hands shook and her chest, oh, how it ached -- but she got herself up and dusted off the debris from her clothing. Helga was long gone by then, however, leaving Phoebe to talk angrily to herself. "If that's how she feels, fine. I don't need her. I don't need someone as mean as her -- if she wants to kill herself doing that stuff, fine." But it wasn't fine, no matter how much her anger and the hurt in her heart argued it was.

**IV**

Phoebe sighed once more, slumped in the hospital waiting room chair. She regretted those words, especially now. She had tried to call Helga at home, but her mother and father always replied, "She locked herself in her room." She had even tried to visit Helga, only to find that she "wasn't home" as her parents previously said.

While Phoebe didn't believe a word of it (knowing full well that Helga was up there), there wasn't much she could do, was there? They were no longer friends at one point if Helga had distrusted her so much to cut her out from her life. At school, it was worse. Helga didn't acknowledge her, or anyone for that manner. Over the year, she seemed to get worse and worse, escalating her behavior bit by bit. She should've known that Arnold dating Lila would've been the straw to break the camel's back on this whole situation; but she didn't know, she didn't know that Helga was so close to the edge.

What had gotten into her friend was beyond her... and she was possibly the closest person that could figure out Helga G. Pataki if there ever was such a person. Helga was too complex to even bother to decode. Her heart wasn't exactly on her sleeve, but had it ever been for that matter? No... Helga never knew how to open up gracefully or to trust complacently. She was always afraid of getting hurt so she pushed people away. For that, Phoebe felt pity rise up inside of her. Helga had been so close to becoming the person she and Helga had hoped for, but it all came crashing down in one moment.

What bothered Phoebe the most was which moment it was... and now it seemed, she may never know. She looked down at her letter, sighing lightly as if it was addressing her in front of all these people.

"You don't have to read it, if you don't want to," Gerald offered, speaking for her in their small intimate group. Inwardly, he was a bit amused at the circumstances that led him to be in this waiting room, aside friends he only occasionally spoke to these days. He shouldn't be here in the first place. He never liked Helga, never talked to her. They had nothing in common, weren't even in the same group of friends. All they had to share was the past, and what good was that?

But here he was, beside someone he swore he would never sit next to. A little geek who somehow made his heart beat faster everytime he was near her. A little nerd he was sure to avoid under usual circumstances. Who was he to act like his protector? He didn't want to protect her. He didn't want to protect _anyone_. Certainly not some girl in oversized glasses.

He pulled his hand from her shoulder and back into his lap, ignoring the missed feeling of her delicate shoulder in his large palm. She still looked down at the letter, focusing on its worn corners.

"No. I can do it." Phoebe gulped as she glided her hands softly against the letter. She had to be strong. She had to show him, and everyone else that she was strong enough to be called Helga's friend... if they weren't friends anymore.

The others understood silently having read their letters also. But it was morbid (and innocent) curiosity that propelled them to share each other's letters. Deep down, they wanted to understand why Helga did this -- and why she chose them to tell it to. Could the truth break them? Or give them hope? It didn't seem very likely for the latter.

Phoebe's hands shook as she held the letter, the fear rising in her heart.

"Phoebe, if you want, I'll-I'll go first if you can't.." Rhonda trailed off, feeling uncertain as she looked at the gently shaking female who sat on the other side of the room from her.

"No..! No. I'll read it. I just.." She trailed off, not knowing what to say. She shrugged helplessly. "It's just hard, these words." She opened it up, and stared at the red ink that reminded her too much of shed blood. She wasn't even aware she was reading it outloud in her quiet voice until near the end.

**Hey Pheebs. **

**I'm not sure when you'll get this letter. In fact, I'm not sure you might even open it, given the things we've said to each other. Or, well, me. Mostly me that said to you. Sorry. I guess I'm bossy even in my own letters. I wanted to tell you I regret so many things, especially what happened between us and what it did to our friendship. You were pretty much my only friend. It was stupid to think you could deal with my bullshit forever. You deserved so much better... and I'm glad you've made friends, really I am.  
**

**I'm proud that you stood up for yourself like that. Not many people do to me, and when you did it, it hurt my feelings. I was thinking so many things then. So many confusing things, thoughts pulling me every which way like sugar gum taffy. I still am, I guess, about my life or what went wrong... but you were right, and don't let anyone ever tell you (especially me) you're in the wrong, just because you want something different.**

**I didn't mean to say all those words. Maybe I did. I don't know. My anger got the best of me. I just didn't want to live, I didn't want to breathe. I wanted to forget things, so many things, and the way I did them did it--sort of. **

**Sorry. Look at me, rambling in my own good-bye letter. Ha-ha, but it's not like I'll get to do it any other time, eh? Might as well take up all the space I can if I want to use this damn stationary up.**

**I just wanted to say that I'll miss you Phoebe. I'm going away, forever actually. You know how it is. I just couldn't take it. School. Life. My parents... Arnold with... you know. Her. Even you were going against me. I just couldn't take it...**

Phoebe paused to clear her constricted throat and wipe the tears from her eyes.

She continued after a couple of moments. The others were tearing up as well, but doing their very best to hold it in. Rhonda had an impassive face on, looking out the hospital window while Harold was doing his manly best not to bawl in the plastic waiting room chair. He wrung his own letter in his hands in his somewhat silent grief, determined not to look like the baby he felt he was still.

Gerald was silent beside Phoebe, listening very carefully to the girl's words. The girl he never got to know. Here he was hearing Helga's life through someone he rarely heard speak outloud for more than a minute, and despite her morbid monologue, he decided she had a nice voice. He carefully pushed that thought away.

Phoebe, on the other hand, was oblivious to their struggles. She hadn't had the chance to finish the letter since yesterday. It would be her first time reading it all the way through... and hopefully her last.

**I just want to say that I'll miss you Phoebe. I know it never seemed like it the way I pushed you around and everything, but you were my best friend all throughout my life. Not anyone else was that close to me or was with me that long. **

**Remember when I was such a bully all throughout gradeschool? With that hideous pink dress and that unibrow of mine? Why couldn't things be like it used to, back in P.S. 118? Why couldn't things be simpler? Anyway, I'm not writing this letter to ask you questions, Pheebs. I got too many of those to deal with as it is. When I die- **

Phoebe choked a sob, unable to keep it all in. Harold, sitting across from her, awkwardly put a hand on her shoulder, and patted it gently, not really knowing how to comfort a crying female. Gerald folded his arms across his chest, and looked away, unwilling to admit to himself he felt a bit jealous at the gesture.

"It's okay to stop, Phoebe," Rhonda said, trying to comfort the girl. In truth, the fashionista was incredibly moved and was on the verge of tears herself. She looked out the window still and willed her face to be as cold and neutral as possible. Like her father's face, like her mother's face. Like a Lloyd should appear, as usual.

"No!" Phoebe cried, shaking her head. "No, I can do it." She had to be strong. For Helga. Phoebe sniffled and wiped her brown eyes, careful of her glasses. Her heart was beating and it hurt, oh how her chest hurt. She winced and held her breath, not wanting to appear so hurt in front of others. She had to keep going.

She _needed_ to keep going.

**When I die, I just know it'll be a great feeling. I just know that it'll be better, wherever I go, as long as it isn't here. No one will miss me. Maybe if I'm lucky, you'll miss me. Olga'll muster a few fake tears and Blowhard Bob will head the pity party before they forget I was even there. **

**When I die, Phoebe, burn everything I own. Burn it all like I was never there, so they'll never know me. What would they care? They lost their chance a million years ago. And lock my room. Do it for me, Pheebs, and don't be sad when I die. It's what I want.**

**Best Friends Forever, **

**Helga G. Pataki**

Phoebe crumbled into Gerald's shoulder, crying harshly. She let the letter slide out of her grasp and float down, resting on the hospital tile. Gerald wrapped his arms around her, all of his previous promises to ignore her dust in the wind. He held her, awkward in his comfort, but all the same earnest in his quest to quell her tears.

Harold bawled on Rhonda's shoulder likewise, while the other girl looked uncomfortable, away from the scene. She was willing her own emotions away to be as cool and as collected as her father. The only emotion she could afford to show was vague annoyance that her red shirt was being stained by the man's tears and she sighed in disgust, letting him cry on her.

After all, it's not like she couldn't get another one, she thought, letting herself get distracted from it all.

Material could be reproduced after all...

But not people.

**V**

"What did he want to talk about?" Brainy began casually when he sat down, as if he didn't care. What a lie that was.

Helga shrugged, feeling tired. She had thought that Arnold would have brought up the subject of her letter to him, as embarrassing as it was. But he didn't... much to her disappointment. Just as she thought: he wouldn't care for her... and if he said so, he would only be putting up a front so she wouldn't off herself anytime soon. He didn't even seem to want to be there, in this room with her. All he could think of was the big picture, of the group. Lila was probably there waiting for him. She resisted giving a sneer, too exhausted to even feel contempt. Helga looked at Brainy who was looking back. "He just wanted to say hi."

"...Just hi?"

"Yeah, just hi."

"Right."

A little bit more silence as Helga sighed, not wanting to think about Arnold and the fact that she just poured out her heart for someone who would never return her feelings. Ever.

Why was she alive again?

She looked at Brainy who was watching her carefully, and she glared.

Oh yeah. _That_ guy.

They sat there unblinking. Somehow, they had registered into a silent staring contest, both vying for dominance in the arena; it felt at the same time serious and... surprisingly lifted the heavy mood of the room. A minute passed by, and finally Brainy blinked.

"Shit!" He cried as he held his head, slightly massaging his eyes under his glasses.

Helga gave off a short laugh, still rather annoyed with him saving her life. "I win! That's what you get for competing against a crazy person!" Helga smirked as she rest her head against the pillow.

"Remind me never to have a staring contest with you. You're too tough for my league." Brainy grumbled as he settled back into his chair, rubbing his irritated eyes. He set his glasses back down on his face.

"Damn straight." Helga answered as she closed her eyes. Brainy looked at her with unconcealed adoration. He had never gotten this chance to see her relaxed. It was like seeing a panda give birth or something.

"Whatta starin' at, bucko?" Helga said, sounding thoroughly annoyed and amused at the same time. Brainy blinked, and shook his head, not bothering to even try to figure out how she knew that he was looking at her.

"Nothing."

"Liar."

Brainy shrugged. "Only if you can prove it," he said, enjoying this minor banter.

After a few moments of an uncomfortable silence, Helga decided to break the ice with the question that was on her mind since she woke up.

"....why did you save me?" She opened her eyes and looked at him. Her blue eyes rang true with anger, and sadness. And maybe a little hope. He knew why she was sad, but hope... why was it there in his starling's eyes? There was more silence in the room, much like the one only minutes before. Except he couldn't end this by staring her down.

What could he say? That he couldn't find the bravery in him to say those precious words in his heart to her face, after she almost died in his arms? He almost laughed. Even after all that, he couldn't muster up the courage to even tell this girl-no, this woman how he felt about her. They would only run in a circle for all time if they kept it up this way.

So he didn't say anything, and closed his eyes.

What could he say to her to make her feel satisfied with this life?

He wasn't Arnold; he'd never be Arnold. And to tell the truth... even if he had that option to be Arnold, he wouldn't take it. As admirable as the boy was, he had grown to dislike him over the years primarily over his imaginary feud over Helga. One thing that stung him was that maybe if he was Arnold, or even like Arnold... he could have told her how much he loved her at this second, during every second for the rest of his life. He could hold her hand without fear. He could touch her cheek. His hands wouldn't itch with prespiration and anxiety, and his glasses wouldn't fog up... maybe it'd be different if he was Arnold at this moment. How he wished he could have that freedom, that power.

But he was "Brainy."

Not Arnold.

He opened his eyes. He then opened his mouth as if to say something, but his gaze was caught in Helga's. As always, he found himself drawn to her sweet face, his little darling... and Helga still beheld that look of confusion, and sadness. That sadness in her eyes that would haunt him when he knew why it was there.

"Why did you save me?" Helga repeated, feeling the need to know. She hated Brainy right now, more than anything. Of all the people, he had to save her. Her little unexpected hero saving her day and ruining her life. Yet at the same time, it sort of thrilled her. Someone actually cared. Someone actually tried to stop her. As terrible as it was, she was truly happy that he saved her. Why did he do it? She knew that he had a simple crush on her, or was it more than that? She peered at him through her lashes. Who was he, after all? She thought she had everyone pegged down so well, and this guy surprised her.

He didn't say anything still, and just looked at her with those soft eyes hidden behind those taped up glasses. The look was familiar, and Helga knew why. It was the same look she had on her face whenever she looked at Arnold. So it wasn't a mere crush at all... Was it what she had felt for Arnold? Her heart fluttered as she paused. Why did she use that word? Had. Past tense. Helga looked away from Brainy.

Brainy watched as she turned away from him. He shook his head and slouched in his seat. What was he thinking? That all his fantasies could come true in just one moment; one day; in a single frame of time? No, he can't afford to be foolish. Helga may have been crazy enough to attempt suicide, but she wasn't delusional enough to forget about Arnold. He bitterly looked away from her, not wanting to remember why he loved her so much to let himself be in this situation. He was trapped by his own heart... and he enjoyed it, despite its woes.

Helga was oblivious to her slight to her savior, and absorbed in her own selfish thoughts. She saw Arnold for the first time in several days just minutes ago, and it suddenly struck her that now that she was sure that he didn't return her feelings, maybe it was time to move on. What had shattered her before, was only an echoed truth now; her life was truly meaningless without the boy, but what was that meaning in the first place? It couldn't be following him, nor could it be holding her endless torch in her heart for him to come rescue her. Not when she was as soiled and ruined as she was.

She frowned and sighed, forgetting for a moment that Brainy was there beside her. Was she even still in love with Arnold? Was she still infatuated with the football-headed boy... No, _man_.. that haunted her 24/7, whether she liked it or not? Why should she bother? He was dating Lila still, after all. That caused her to recoil, and hiss mentally.

_Lila._

How she loathed that snake on her bosom. She was the girl who had taken her only love's heart and sealed it permanently with a kiss. It was nothing short of a kiss of death in Helga's perspective.

Now she had Arnold... and what did Helga have?

Nothing.

That's what.

What was she to do now that everyone knew the freak had been stupid enough to attempt suicide. God, she could just imagine it now. Her own father would be disappointed in another thing she failed in: death. Her sister would berate her with only happy thoughts and happy smiles, and her mother would continue to snore in her own slobber. The rest of her life would be uninterrupted tedium with the exception that she would now be guarded, carefully kept and forgotten by everyone around her. She would never be left alone; no one would trust her with sharp objects or any sort of thing that would give her the slightest harm. She was going to be watched every day, every hour, every minute, every second, without rest. What was her future going to be like? Was she going to be locked up in the cuckoo's nest with all the other crazies, left alone forever in a white room?

Or would life resume normal?

Will everyone go back to their lives, never giving her another thought, as before?

_No.. Things will never be normal.._

"You still haven't answered, Brainy," Helga whispered as she looked out her hospital window. She saw outside, a small park, with children playing with their parents, but the sun wasn't shining. More like hiding behind the dark clouds. But it was still a nice day to be out, at least in a normal person's perspective. In Helga's opinion the scene outside was too much like her dream: cold, dark, quiet before the storm as the saying goes. She shivered, a dull ache in her head becoming apparent to her.

"I..I.. really don't know. I just didn't want to see you die."

"Is that all?"

He hesitated and she noticed. "You could have just turned away when I pulled the trigger, pretended that I was never shot. You could've just done that and not really have given a shit about me." Helga replied, not taking her eyes off from the view, focused more on the clouds then on Brainy.

He sucked in his breath at the suggestion. He would've sooner died himself. "No, I would have never done that." More like couldn't, rather than wouldn't. He was tied to Helga in too many ways to just ignore her.

"Why not?" She turned to him briefly before going back to the window. "I would have forgiven you. It's not like I was going to haunt you or something."

_But my memories of you are.._ Brainy thought as he silently sighed, and just shook his head. "I really don't know, Helga." Lies. He knew exactly why. "I know you're pissed at me for saving you but there's so much more to life that you haven't seen, so much you haven't tasted. Would you really throw it all away?" He paused and used his dreaded wild card: him. "What about Arnold?"

Helga turned to look at him. "What about Arnold?" She looked surprised, maybe that he brought him up or maybe that he knew of her affections for the boy. In either case, her heart rate went up and she glared at the machine for revealing her emotions so easily. "..how's he taking this?"

She almost cringed at the question. She was such a lovesick fool; even when she resolved to get over him, even when she knew he didn't feel the same way about her after knowing of her feelings, she wanted to know everything about him still. It was a habit she could never break, her love for this person. Something she couldn't shake even if she tried for the life of her, a shackle to her heart that she trudged happily with. Despite his appearance with her, she wondered secretly with a little hope that maybe he could one day return her feelings...

Would he?

...Could he?

Even that illusion dimly dressed as hope seemed to mock her with her constant doubt. This love, this love she could never be rid of; this love she could never truly, full break. When would she realize she didn't deserve him, especially not now?

Brainy chose his words carefully. "..I didn't see him as he left but he arrived after you were shot. _I _had already diverted the bullet. _I _called the ambulance..." he paused, and then let out a sigh of defeat, "while he held you..." Brainy paused, looking at Helga's face curiously. "If I didn't know better, I'd say he loved you the way he kept looking at you."

"But we both know that's not true, right?" came Helga's dark, bitter laugh as she closed her eyes. Brainy sighed, smiling woefully.

"Yeah, we both know better." _Unfortunately.. _Brainy thought, watching as she went to sleep.

**VI**

What the hell was the matter with him?

Why couldn't he have spoken more directly to her?

He should march into that room, face his fears and just get it over with.

But.. he chewed his lip, rubbing the back of his head. But he was too scared. Wasn't that the usual story, him chickening out like this? He didn't know what to do in a situation like this. Helga. Out of all the people he knew to attempt suicide, it was Helga. Strong, invincible, beautiful Helga. There in that sterile bed, she had crumbled up like a frail flower's petals against the cruel cold wind of life. What could he say that couldn't wait a few days, if not a few weeks?

And to Arnold's knowledge, that's all he could do: wait. Wait and see, see if it got better. It was what he was good at, this skill. Patience was something that came very naturally to him, like the skin he always felt he was missing from his body these days.

At the same time, Arnold knew it was a stupid way out. It was a coward's way out, this waiting. If it was a virtue, it wasn't a valiant one.

If he were a true hero, he would throw caution to the wind and not care about petty details. No, he would only care about results. _And what_, his mind answered back sarcastically, _rescuing the princess? Slaying the dragon? You're not some knight in shining armor._

No, he wasn't... was he?

He was late to save her. Someone else was there before him.

Brainy.

He briefly wondered how he knew to be there at the right moment to stop her. Had he gotten a letter too? Arnold tried to tell himself it didn't matter that he wasn't the first, that all that mattered was that she was safe and alive. But in the deep of our hearts, there is always corruption. And with that corruption, therein lies impure thoughts: jealousy, envy, pettiness, bitterness, revenge, hatred... it was all there. And yes, it was even in this poor boy's heart. As well-intentioned as he was, he was perturbed by the concern that Brainy held for her and moreover, why Brainy was preferred over him. He knew it was to be expected given his heroism, but still... it sucked.

It really, really sucked.

Even beside that, what could he have said to Helga in that cold, sterile room?... Something like, "Helga, you did something that was stupid and.." No, way too blunt.

Or maybe try a different tactic; maybe in another area. How could he address those feelings of hers? "Helga, I like you, but not love you, but I'm confused with these growing feelings of attraction to you?"

No, that's not right. "Helga, what were you thinking?" NO! That wasn't it either.

"Ugh.. I feel so frustrated.."

"Not to mention crazy-looking."

Arnold leaned back, looking to the side of him and gave a lopsided grin at his best friend. "How's that?"

"Uh, let's see," Gerald said as he arched his eyebrow up. He held up a finger. "You're talking to yourself, for starters." He brought up another finger. "You're talking about Helga Pataki in your one-sided conversation." He held up one more finger. "And you're talking about feelings that don't even belong to her species."

Arnold's gaze hardened. "That's not fair, Gerald. She just tried to kill herself; don't say that about her."

Gerald looked surprised and held up his hands in defense. "Woah, gee, sorry. Didn't know it made you that mad."

"Yeah," Arnold straightened, trying to control his temper. "Yeah, it does. Obviously she had feelings, man. She's a person, just like both of us." _Just like all of us_, he thought silently.

"Yeah," Gerald mumbled, looking away, chastened by the reminder.

"Why aren't you in the waiting room with everyone else?"

"They were reading those letters... I dunno, I just wanted to get a change of scenery." The truth was he couldn't sit next to Phoebe anymore. Not without touching her, smelling her... beginning to _feel_ for her. And that scared him. Very, very much so. He shivered when he thought of how easily that girl got under his skin when so many other of her sex tried so hard and got nowhere. It was only a look, only a helpless sigh that sent her scurrying underneath his fingernails and up into his heart.

Why was it so easy for her to do that?

Arnold nodded, not choosing to comment anymore on the matter. He thought the whole thing was disgusting, most likely since it highlighted his own inadvertent guilt in the whole matter. What did those letters say about him? What did Helga have to say about her own love for him? Was she serious when she said those words to him in her final goodbye? He looked at Gerald who hadn't looked up from the floor yet, lost in his own thoughts as well.

Could he tell Gerald about it? Would it be breaking some sort of unspoken promise with Helga?

A part of him wanted to tell everything to Gerald to get the guidance he needed... and another part knew that not even Gerald would have the sort of guidance to offer him. There was only one real person he could ask and he was at the Sunset Arms, taking his nap. It would mean he'd have to leave the hospital for the first time since he arrived.

"You alright, man?" A hand was on his shoulder. A hand was all that made him crumble.

He shook his head and then tears sprouted to the corner of his eyes.

Gerald's eyes widened. Oh boy. Suddenly he found himself the shoulder to lean on twice in one day. He sighed and held an arm out, wrapping around his best friend's shoulder. "Hey man," he whispered as he hugged him, "It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay."

Arnold closed his eyes against the tears and held onto Gerald. It was too much; it came at him too fast. And he was still so slow to react, so slow to move against time to do anything of significance. He wanted to tell Gerald what was going on in his head and why he was so upset but instead he found himself talking about Helga instead. "She told me she loved me," he said as he let go of Gerald, shuddering against the wall.

"Who?" Gerald crossed his arms across his broad chest. "Lila?"

"No," Arnold said, feeling a stab of guilt through his heart when the name of his girlfriend came up. There was a still silence even as nurses and doctors walked around, and the two boys never noticed any interruption. A thought -- no, a person occurred to Gerald suddenly.

"..._Helga_?" Gerald was stunned.

Arnold only nodded, sniffling. He wiped at his nose with his hand and blinked his eyes a bit, keeping the tears from accumulating. "She just... she said she loved me for a long time. She was the girl, that note that day, that I was supposed to meet. I thought it was..." he trailed off. "I-I don't know what to do." He looked at his shirt, his blood-stained shirt. "Gerald, I held her, I held her as she bled in my arms right after-"

"Calm down, calm down," Gerald said. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure!" Arnold snapped, and Gerald arched his brow.

"Hey, I'm just trying to get the facts straight. I mean, it's a lot to take in... Helga G. Pataki being in love with you, of all people."

"Yeah, I guess," Arnold mumbled, still upset at the realization. How come he never saw it? The truth was there, always staring him in the face. All those times, all those moments -- why did he never suspect it to begin with?

"How do you feel?" Gerald continued carefully, a little wary of the turbulent reactions from his normally stable friend.

"I... don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No! I don't know-" he gestured vaguely to his chest, to his body, to his mind. "I don't feel like I know anything anymore."

Gerald took a step forward and shook Arnold a bit. Arnold looked at him, feeling weak and exhausted. "Arnold, man, you're tired. You haven't gotten any sleep, have you?"

"No..." The past twenty-four hours have been draining for sure, and he felt older than he should've been at the tender age of seventeen. He couldn't really sleep without knowing she was okay... and even then in his light slumber, all he could do was dream of those moments when he saw her on the roof bleeding. He practically felt the bags under his eyes everytime he blinked and his shoulders hunched forward, his body heavy with spent energy. Even against the cool wall of the hospital, he felt lacking in energy, especially everytime he thought about Helga.

"Look, you should go home."

"But-"

"But nothin' man. You're no use this way. Helga's fine, right? You saw her, right?"

"Yeah, I saw her." _But I didn't say anything of importance, did I? _he thought, bitter with his own cowardliness. _What did I say that a coward would only say? _"I can't leave her alone here." But what Arnold meant to say was he didn't want to leave her... not when he felt so conflicted and so ashamed.

"She's not alone. I saw her parents come in a while ago, Arnold." A hand was on his shoulder again and he looked into Gerald's eyes. "Besides, I heard Brainy's been with her since they brought her in."

Arnold shrugged off Gerald's hand suddenly, upset at the mention of the boy's name. Did he _have_ to bring that guy up now?

"That so." Arnold spat out the statement, unaware of how bitter he came off.

Gerald noticed. "What is your deal, man?"

"I don't know!" Arnold suddenly yelled, causing some people in the hallway to stare at the two teenagers. "I don't know, Gerald. Yesterday, I was just opening up my mail, minding my own business, and boom, here I am, covered in her blood still--_her fucking blood, Gerald_--and then they weren't going to let me see her, and then she didn't really talk to me and I don't know-" He threw up his hands. "Why the fuck does it always come down to me? Why do I have to make these decisions, man?"

"What are you even talking about?"

Arnold sighed, his head against the wall again. "I don't even know anymore," he said softly, rethinking his position. Maybe Gerald was right. Maybe he should just leave this place for a while. He was going crazy like this. "Whatever, I'm out of here."

"Good," Gerald commented, watching his friend depart. "Get some sleep, man!"

Arnold waved his arm at him, a bit annoyed with the whole situation, but more exasperated with himself than anything. Talking with Gerald didn't help at all; if anything, it rubbed salt in obvious wounds.

Gerald sighed as his best friend left, still bothered by the exchange. "Jesus Christ, Helga," he mumbled to himself. "You really fucked things up for everyone."

**VII**

He wasn't a fast man; no, not usually.

And while the matter wasn't truly urgent, his heart beat with a dangerous ferocity as he entered the hospital, closing his eyes against the cool air conditioning. Even with his haste, he had a slow gait – a sure sign of his age. He rubbed his bald head and put his hat back on, careful to balance the bouquet of white roses in his arms as he did so. This old man seemed to look like the grandfatherly type-the one to bring in roses to his dear sick wife, his daughter recovering from her pregnancy of his grandchild, a son surviving from cancer, or even a dear friend who got in an automobile accident. Everything about him radiated kindness and compassion and the utmost understanding.

But in reality he was just a teacher; a lonely, middle-aged teacher visiting his former student.

Walking, he quietly remembered what she was like in those days.

Ah, yes. Helga G. Pataki. The little firecracker always was extra 'special' in his eyes.

It was as if time had reversed for the teacher. His hair became a dark blond, almost an orange again instead of that pale alabaster white. The only thing that remained the same was the baldness at the top. He still wore the same green vest and tie with dark brown pants. Instead of a hospital waiting room, in his mind's eye he was outside in an enclosed playground, looking at the children who ran around at P.S. 118. He smiled to no one in particular, only to himself.

He watched as his eyes skimmed to and fro on _his_ children. He always thought of it that way. His little children. In truth they'd always be his children, even when they grew up, had families of their own and successful lives without him being there. Even if they forgot all about him, or if they never bothered to give him a passing thought, they would always be his.

He never got married, or ever even tried to pursue a relationship because there was little point. There was only one woman for him and she had already passed away from the monster named leukemia. He mentally shook those thoughts from his head. Yesterday's news that happened only ten years ago. He decided to put the past behind him and enjoy the present.

The middle-aged teacher watched as a nine-year old football headed boy--Arnold was his name--helped a small first-grader up after a fifth grade bully pushed her down for humor. The teacher stayed put where he was, seeing that Arnold had it all in control. He walked around more. Harold, a pink pudgy boy of thirteen was being bet to eat fifteen chocolate bars in less than three minutes for a nickel. Rhonda, a preppy raven-haired girl, was giving fashion tips to her female friends. Phoebe, one of his best students, was talking with a boy, Gerald, animatedly about one subject or another. It was hard to recall, especially after so many years.

His eyes went over to the swings, where one lonely girl played by herself. She had blond pigtails, with an overly large pink bow on the back of her head; a pink and red dress she donned every day it seemed, swung softly. She watched the ground with interest and looked lost in her thoughts. The teacher sighed sadly. That girl, Helga; she was always alone. Phoebe was usually with her, but Helga in truth hardly had any other friends.

Mr. Simmons shook his head. 'That poor girl. She writes such beautiful poetry. I wonder why she hides from the world?' Mr. Simmons thought to himself. Helga never took notice of the teacher staring at her. She took out a piece of paper and pen and started writing on it, using her lap as a makeshift desk. Mr. Simmons got closer. He wouldn't be noticed.

As he got close to her, he saw a side only shown on rare occasions.

"..Why am I alone? Questions haunt me night and day. When will I confess? It is like a plague to my soul, feeding upon the darkness that lies there. Is that secret to be chained to me, preventing me from any progress? I hope not, for there is an angel who can save me--one with green eyes, soft cornflower hair, and skin smooth as marble. When will it happen? Tomorrow? Next week? In three years? I shall never know, but shall forever wait for my Angel in blue." Helga said as she wrote down the words. Mr. Simmons' gaze softened. He was one of the few that knew her secret, and he was going to keep it secret. Helga had a beautiful soul, one that rivaled an angel's. If only she would let it show for once. But he knew she'd show it sooner or later in her life. It was all a matter of time.

The teacher walked quietly away to his classroom to begin teaching once more. And with a blink of an eye, he was in the hospital again. Why was he here again? He looked at the flowers in his hand.

Oh! That's right. Helga._ Helga._ He was here for Helga.

Mr. Simmons walked down the desk briskly (as much as he could with his bad leg.) Normally, he was the kind to enjoy life slow; that was just the way he is. People crossed his path, involved in their own dramas, but it didn't matter. The old teacher had learned in his time as a teacher (for about ten years it seemed..) to take his time, enjoy life as it was, and take notice of the small things, such as Helga G. Pataki.

He smiled at the nurse behind the desk. "The room for Helga Pataki, Miss…" He looked at her nametag. "Cooper."

Nurse Cooper arched an eyebrow behind the desk. What was with this girl and visitors? She must've been pretty extraordinary for all this attention. "I'm sorry, sir, but family only."

"Oh!" Mr. Simmons exclaimed. "Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry. I didn't know." He looked at the roses. "Is it possible to send these to her?"

Nurse Cooper arched an eyebrow again. Now she was a delivery service? She looked at the man's face, trying to assess what his real intent. A lot of paparazzi had tried to sneak into the hospital under the guise of well-wishers for Pataki and she wondered if he was more of the same. He had a kind old face, full of laugh lines and crow's feet. He was pale and old, not strong-looking at all. If anything, it was ironic that a man like him was visiting a young, supposedly vital young girl like Helga Pataki. Her lips twitched up at the thought and she thought for the second time today, "_Screw regulations… screw the rules."_ She always thought it was stupid to turn away people who weren't immediately related to the patients; obviously this girl was important to everyone who had tried to see her today. And this man didn't look like he'd harm a fly.

"Name, sir?" She clicked her pen.

"Robert, uh… Simmons."

"Robert Simmons," she repeated as she wrote the name.

"With an O."

"Oh, sorry," she scratched out and scribbled a correction hastily.

"It's fine, it happens all the time."

She handed him a visitor's pass. "Room 415. Elevators are straight ahead to your left."

"Thank you," Mr. Simmons smiled, tipping his hat slightly at her. Nurse Cooper found herself smiling back. At least some people still had manners these days. It was almost worth this double shift she was stuck with.

"Have a good day!" she called out, surprising herself. He turned around in the open elevator and nodded, repeating the salutation to her.

"You as well!" he said, waving the bouquet at her as the elevator doors closed.

She leaned back in her chair, somewhat satisfied with her actions. _Not bad, Cooper_, she thought. _Not bad at all._

**VIII**

"I can't believe it," he muttered to himself. It seemed impossible, but then again... he reflected medically, it wasn't improbable either. Stranger stuff _has_ happened in the field of science, some things that couldn't really be explained even to the best of efforts. The brain was a miraculous organ, something that they probably wouldn't figure out in his lifetime.

Miracles do happen, it seems, however double edged they were. The doctor looked at the x-rays with a bit of chagrin he was normally not accustomed to in his career. Someone else would say she was lucky -- but he didn't believe in a superstition like that. Well, whaddya know, he thought, letting the smile fall off his face. Now to tell the family. This was the part he really didn't like: the slow walking down the hall, the opening of the door, the frightened looks on their faces that they tried so desperately to hide.

Someone once told him it was his white lab coat that did it; that's what made them so nervous. He touched the crisp hem with skepticism; all this over a coat? He failed to realize that what his former patient meant by the comment was that his coat was a symbol of everything patients had come to fear: death.

And now there Dr. "Death" was, in front of two parents in the room of their sleeping child. It was a shame when it came down to this... when someone so young would attempt on their own life. Personally (and privately), he thought it was such a waste. He had gone overseas when he was younger to volunteer in underprivileged hospitals to third world countries where children younger than this girl were starving in the streets with children of their own. Sometimes he felt that America was too overindulgent with the upcoming generation and he felt very little pity for Helga Pataki.

But he'd never say these thoughts outloud; he was impartial to a rule, as Death always is in these situations.

"Mr. Pataki, Mrs. Pataki," the doctor nodded courteously to the pair. Mr. Pataki grunted, his unibrow furrowing into his wrinkles and he maintained a strong, defensive stance by folding his arms across his chest. He looked distrusting toward the physician, wary of the mumbo jumbo to come his way. His wife's hand had come onto his and he gripped it, letting only her know his true feelings at the moment.

"Doctor," Mrs. Pataki squeaked, her voice betraying the nervousness she felt. "What can you tell us?"

"Well, I have some good news..." Their faces rose and lit up and he continued, his lips in a tight neutral line, "-and some bad news." Their faces fell.

"Bad news?" The mother said, her hand coming back to rest on the lap and her eyes becoming distant and vague. The father gripped the hard, cool plastic of the hospital chair.

"What sort of bad news?" he said.

The doctor hesitated, only for a moment. "There's no easy way to say this but... there's a strong possibility that your daughter will have permanent damage from her suicide attempt."

The mother closed her eyes tightly, to keep the tears at bay. The father held his chin up high. "What does that mean?"

"Cases like these... they don't happen very often. They usually end in a fatality so your daughter's survival is... well... exceptionally rare. I'm not saying it doesn't happen, but when it does, a survivor like your daughter doesn't come out totally unscathed."

The father looked ansy, impatient. "So, what does it mean?" He repeated, wanting it to be over with. The doctor absentmindedly tapped his clipboard next to his side while the nurse looked on apprehensively.

"In plain words? We can't make a diagnosis, not yet -- we need to keep her here for a while before she exhibits signs-"

"Signs of what?" The father got up from his chair, trying to impose his height on the doctor.

The doctor tried to remain calm, but the jittering of the clipboard got faster. "Brain damage, epilepsy -- there could be more, maybe even long-term effects that won't become apparent at first."

"Christ on a cracker," the father mumbled, running a hand through his hair. His fingers tweaked at his unibrow, a nervous tic he retained from childhood. "That's a helluva bad news. What's the good news?"

"Actually... that _was_ the good news. The bad news is that we can't get a fragment of the bullet out from her skull, not when her tissue is this inflamed."

"There's still a god damn bullet in her head?!"

"Please, keep your voice down, Mr. Pataki-"

"Who are you? I want a real doctor here, not some prissy preschooler-"

"I assure you, Mr. Pataki, I'm very well qualified to treat your daughter, now please, keep your-"

"If I'm paying some outrageous bill for this fiasco, I'm suing the hospital-"

"BEE!" The mother shrieked. "Shut UP! Just shut up!"

It was quiet.

The father let his hands down to his sides. The doctor put the clipboard to his chest protectively. The mother slumped in the chair and started to cry. The nurse averted her eyes to the floor.

And the daughter remained asleep.

Awkwardly, the father went by the mother and put a hand on her shoulder; it was shrugged off.

The doctor frowned and held his impassive face with ease, as he had practiced so many times before with so many other families. There was nothing different about this scenario, nothing special save for the minor medical miracle. It was still not marvelous to get his emotions involved, to become invested in just one patient out of hundreds because there was no use; death comes to everyone and he felt he was just a glorified undertaker sometimes. He put the chart into the hands of the more sympathetic nurse and walked out of the room, his hands in his pockets.

It was, after all, business... as usual.

**IX**

* * *

AN: **Revised February 2010.** Yeah, this chapter's a bit mixed with feelings. I tried to make it lighter toward the end with Mr. Simmons; we'll see him again in chapter eight. If you're still wondering, only a day has passed since Helga's incident with the gun. Since she woke up, it's been the same day for the past four chapters (chapters 2-6). If you're wondering about Helga's scene with Brainy, well, Big Bob confronts Brainy after Helga goes to sleep so the timing might throw you off but if you know the basic timeline, it all makes sense... sort of. Helga's still not aware that her parents are on their way to the hospital, nor Big Bob's change of heart (and regret) toward his youngest daughter.

I featured Lila for the first time with her disorder, and if you notice I never refer to her as "Lila" and if anything, she refers to herself almost in the third person in her own thoughts, like a separate entity "Lila Sawyer." She has no real identity, because she doesn't have an identity as far as she's concerned when she's alone; she's just empty. I've always felt that Lila was never really explained fully as to why she acted the way she acted; what molded her into the way she is? What are her problems? These are good questions to ask about any character!

And I also went in depth into Phoebe's recollections, but not too far to be completely absorbed by her. One of the hardest scenes for me to write was Helga's fight with Phoebe. It had to be violent enough to justify their separation, and because of everything Helga was going through at the time (which still has yet to be revealed.) You need to understand that there is more to this situation than appears to the eye.

All the letters will be revealed in due time (remember, there are four of them: Arnold, Phoebe, Rhonda, and Harold). And I also researched the medical phenomenon of people surviving gunshots to the head; it IS plausible after all, if not rare and unusual -- and there are complications involved which we'll get into in chapter eight.

The song "What This Life For" by Creed is very moving; the lyrics are about one of the bandmate's friend's suicide, and the difficulties in finding happiness, which I feel is conveyed in the feeling of this chapter, if not this whole story. Lila, Phoebe, Helga, Brainy, Arnold, Gerald, Rhonda... everyone actually is looking for their own answer, but there are these roadblocks in the way of their finding those answers; some can make it around those roadblocks... and some can't. The lyrical content itself is rather religious, but then again, so is this story at times -- we're all dealing with religion, whether it be written down on paper... or in our hearts.

Thank you for reading. Please review!

-BG


	7. Interlude I: The Darkness

Disclaimer: I do not own Hey Arnold! characters/ideas. I claim credit for the writing below however. Please be cautioned that this is rated T for a reason for the "some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes." Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with adult themes such as suicide and mild non-explicit sexuality. If you are not the recommended age limit for this rating, the author nor the website is responsible.

* * *

Dreams of Blue Skies

**Chapter Seven**

**Interlude I: The Darkness**

Blue days, all of them gone

Nothin' but blue skies from now on

-Bing Crosby's "Blue Skies

* * *

**[We come out of the shadows, as the other reporters leave after Mr. Pataki drives off with his wife, the mother of the girl who attempted suicide. Slowly, we crouch towards the unsuspecting home. We fly through the kitchen window, unaffected by the matter, and make our way into the hall.**

**[As we enter the Pataki household, we slowly turn to see portraits on the hallway walls of the Pataki family. There is Mr. Pataki-otherwise know as "Big Bob"-with his wife, Miriam Pataki, at his side. There are two other girls, their daughters: Helga and Olga Pataki. The latter is smiling with the rest of the family while the former frowns and turns away from the portrait. The photograph looks a little old, given the age of the girl in question: she is nine years old.**

**[We turn away, venturing quietly upstairs, our gaze on the stairs. We arrive on the final step and travel to the sounds of crying, and through the cracked opening of the door, we see a grown woman crying on her pillow, soaking the sheets with her hot tears. We again turn away, for this is not what we're looking for.**

**[Going to another room, right next to it, down the hall, we enter it cautiously. There is a smell too difficult to distinguish, too vague to put a word down on it... but the aura of the area is sad. We look around at the dark surroundings, and look closely at the walls; they used to be a cheerful pink and part of the room is stripped of the wallpaper while the other half is ignored.**

**[We take a deep breath and go deeper into a room. The scent that earlier eluded us is tinged with a light perfume incense, along with the scent of ashy cigarettes. There is a strong emotional feeling in the air, like an aura imprinted in the molecules. We feel heartbreak... desire... hope and hopelessness... and fear. It passed through our spines, sending a involuntary shiver down it. We shake it off, and venture into the room, ready to complete our task.**

**[The room looks as if it had been stripped of its paint just recently. The bed was dishelved, and rusty stains mar the white sheets, which are furiously wrinkled and look (and smell) like they haven't been washed in weeks. We turn our gaze at the walls. There were streaks of pink against the black walls. The black is charcoal on the stripped portions where the wallpaper was ripped. There were pictures, a bit crude in nature. Many had similar themes: loneliness as well as an extreme self-hatred. The self portraits were not flattering and nowhere near the photographs seen below. We recoil, looking away from the woman's face, for to look upon it, was to take her pain and experience it as your own. We admit that it would have beautiful, if you didn't want to wince at the hate and hurt of the woman had expressed through her facial expressions.**

**[It was hand-drawn, made recently, judging by the freshness of the smell. It smelled like art and blood. We look closer at it. Probably in the last week or so. In the background, we see a blonde man watching, but he does nothing, except look at the torture. We direct our attention to the bottom right side of the drawing, and widen our eyes. "Helga G. Pataki" was written in beautiful hand-writing. We look around and see most of the drawing, if not all, are made by Miss Pataki.**

**[We back away, looking elsewhere than the walls. Looking at her pictures is not the reason why we are here today, in her room, at the Pataki residence. We briefly rummage through her desk, drawers, flinging around clothes onto the floor, not considering the mess. Giving up on the drawers, we begin to comb through the room. Making our way to the closet door, we fling it open gently, as to not disturb the others who live in this house. Pushing aside the clothes that hang from the pole, we see bland brown cardboard boxes - quite a few actually - stacked together in a neat pile. We tear one open, only to reveal numerous minature pink books upon pink books, over a hundred we calculate. Skimming through a couple of the book's contents, before setting it back in the box. We did not come for poetry.**

**[We go to another box, only to reveal an statuette of a football head with a face. We put it back carefully, and tear open another box. This one is full of photographs. Many are of a young football headed boy, more of an older preteen version of the boy, and finally what looked like a late-teened version of the boy. We can only deduce that Miss Pataki had a some-what obsession with this fellow. Shoving the third box aside, we are now impatient. Opening another box, this time it is a box of dolls and other pink memorabilia from childhood years. Giving up, knowing we would never find what we look for in here. Pushing the boxes away, we get up, and venture back in Miss Pataki's room.**

**[We look around once more, trying to think of a place where we missed, where we have not looked, where Miss Pataki might have put it. We hear a faint fluttering noise in the background near the window. Your and my eyes skim around, and we stop at the window, where a book with black jean covering on it, the wind blew the pages, making it click at the speed of the rate of it's going. A royal red ink pen was there at the book's side, laying limp. The moonlight pours in. We did not even realize how much time has passed while we were looking. Yet we have found what we have been looking for. Her private collection of diaries. We pick one up, and it is full of preteen cursive. The wind blows in the room, sweet and cold at the same time, as we venture forth to the journal of Miss Pataki.**

**[As if by magic, coincidence, or however you shall come about to call it, the pages stopped at the exact day where all the trouble started. We stay and read. Afterall, we have come such a far aways to be here, right now, looking at what we look at now. Our gaze flits upon the diary page as we read, Miss Pataki's voice reads them aloud in our mind's eye...]**

II

_Dear Diary,_

_June 1st, 1999_

They should have another word entirely for Junior High - they should call it "Hell's Training Wheels." Criminey, I'm not looking forward to going back. I miss PS 118. I miss Arnold. Everytime I see him, it's like a punch to the gut. He looks at me now and it causes all of these fluttering feelings. I don't know. I can't bring myself to be around him. Not after what I did. I could burn off my hand - sometimes I'm close. Everytime I remember, I just hurt myself to make it up to him.

**[Before we could see what else is written in the entry, the pages blow once more, settling on the a date five days from the 13th.]**

_Dear Diary,_

_January 16th, 2000_

I miss him so much

More than my lips will say

Only the pen has courage

To write down

My love.

_Dear Diary,_

January 17th, 2000

He doesn't miss me. He can't miss me. Why would he miss me? He probably doesn't even think about me. I walk down the halls and it's like I'm invisible.

**[Pages are once again blown to a different page. We watch, as if mesmerized or even hyponotized. Page stops another five days from the previous date.]**

_Dear Diary,_

_September 20th, 2001_

He saved me.

Why did he have to save me?

Why did he have to look at me with those eyes of his?

**[When the pages float by again, we realize there's a large gap in time.]**

_Dear Diary_

_August 5, 2002_

He's never going to want me now.

I'm ruined.

Beware of green doors

and green eyed boys

they spell trouble

with h-e-r-o.

**[Browsing through the pages, there's sporadic notes. More doodling and vague prose. Finally 20 pages in is an entry dated a year later.]**

_Dear Diary_

_November 31st, 2003_

I can't believe it's finally happening. Soon, I'll go away. Forever. Not like this pansy wristcutting. As much as it feels good "to feel anything" I can't keep going on like this. I know sooner or later some do gooder teacher is going to butt his nose into my life and start making a big deal about it. who am I kidding that's never going to happen... that's just exactly why I'm doing it.

In two days time, I'll take out the gun, and blow my brains out. My brain'll be splattered all over the asphalt, and by then it'll be too late for anyone to save me. I'll already be long gone, away from dimension of exquisite anguish.

I mailed four letters to people. Rhonda, Phoebe, Harold, and... Arnold..**[There seems to be a rusty smudge around this sentence..]**

They'll all recieve it on the day I plan to shoot myself. I don't even think they'll try to stop me. Ha! Well, maybe Phoebe. Probably. If she's not still mad at me. God, I'm really sorry in getting that argument with her. I didn't mean it. Phoebe knows me better than anyone. She's been there forever for me. We haven't talked in so long ... it's all my fault. Everything's all my fault.

The bleeding's stopped. I feel slightly woozy. Is it blood loss.. or is it longing for Arnold? Haha, who knows at this point... I can never have him. He is so unattainable except to the reach's of Lila.

Why? Why must Lila, little miss perfect, have him and not me? Why does Arnold love her and not me? Why does everyone I love just leave?

I bet I'll spend the rest of my days just haunting around my highschool or something. Maybe. Will anyone notice if I'm gone? Probably not.**[There are smudged ink stains once more. She is crying.]** No one will miss me. I'll just be forgotten in three months, at the most.

Ha. Who am I kidding. Three months? A week, tops.

**[The wind blows the pages once more, as we see are all blank. That was her last diary entry. We hear a noise in the hall and panic, dropping the diary. I motion for you to go to the window and we escape by the fire escape. It's not worth exploiting the kid for a break in the news. She's got enough problems as it is.]**


	8. Never There

Author: Bunni  
  
Rating: R For talk of attempted suicide, violent memories, violent descriptions, adult language, extreme drama.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own "Adam's Song" by Blink-182, or Hey Arnold! which rightfully belongs to Nickelodeon.  
  
Fanfic Summary: Helga snaps after she sees various things in her life go wrong, grades, family, friends, and her love. She see's the only way out after one night. Will someone save her before it was too late?  
  
Chapter Summary: The radio reminds Helga of before.   
  
(I have one thing to say to my reviewers: Thank you. And another thing to Avon Belac: Screw off dick. I thought about deleting your sad excuse of a flame, but I thought nah, let's let the idiot make a fool of himself by letting everyone else see and say what a cuntbag he really is. I really hope you get sent down to Hell, but maybe, hey, here's an idea: What if even Satan rejects you? After all not only do you suck with words, and flames, but fanfiction, writing, heck living in general. Yeah, you're bound to be a loser for an eternity. That will be all.)  
  
  
  
Dear Readers,  
  
  
  
  
  
In spite of some people's flames (which still suck by the way) I have taken heed to his advice. I am thoroughly convinced that even though this story was nice while it lasted, I won't continue it.   
  
It took one flamer to bring down all my self-confidence (even though his flames do suck dick). I am not doing this for reviews, like the other stories, but I think it's time that I moved on. This story may have been good, possibly verging on great, but what's the use in that? Afterall, and I qoute someone's LAME review, "..you are crippled by the very fact your writing a story about Hey Arnold!. Please, the only place this story belongs is in the garbage." Unqoute.  
  
I have taken this very seriously, because one, I want to be a writer when I become an adult, possibly even a song-writer, and two, perhaps this story DOEs belong in the garbage. I do not care for your reviews, though it may have brought me down some notches because no one took an immediate interest in the story (which I perfectly understand) but I know now, that I cut the lifeline to this story, if only temperary. I will perhaps change it, possibly even mutate it into an Original story, one with no ties with Hey Arnold! whatsoever, but you and I shall never know.  
  
Maybe I'll just leave it in the dust, let it rot for a while. I could possibly care less. For those who had suicide experience, I did my part. I was going to finish this story, give it a great ending and all that and a bag of chips, but you can all take it up with my favorite (yeah right) flamer (who sucks at writing flames. Period.) Avon Belac. That is his FF.net screen name, and feel free to bother him 24/7, I could hardly care less. If there are some who want me to continue, perhaps I will, and write a chapter for you then send it to you via email. But i won't post it up (maybe).   
  
  
Again I say, au revoir, for I shall return with more fanfiction. *bows and leaves*  
  
-Bunni 


	9. The Unforgiven

Author: Bunni  
  
  
Rating: PG-13 for language and mild suicide description.  
  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own Hey Arnold! which rightfully belongs to Nickelodeon.  
  
  
Fanfic Summary: Helga snaps after she sees various things in her life go wrong, grades, family, friends, and her love. She see's the only way out after one night. Will someone save her before it was too late?  
  
  
Chapter Summary: A gift from a church-woman to Helga gives her slight hope. Who is this mysterious woman and why the gift?  
  
  
(AN: I usually just mention the reviewer's names, but the reviews really got to me.  
  
**Linda:** *bows* I want you to know, that your review was not only tasteful, very liberal in fact, but it also got to my heart and my head. I will forever keep your advice in my head. I've been mulling and lamenting inside my head about the flame, and snapping angrily at people because I felt more mad and bitter then I had since three years ago (but that's another story entirely). Your advice, Linda, has knocked some hard-core sense into my poor brain-dead mind. I shouldn't be so sensitive to criticism, for it will only show weakness on my part, and that criticism should build my character up (not making myself degrade further). I keep in mind that I am only 14 years old, and should be writing fanfics (as practice). I had no idea (only but a vague one at that) that there were other people; lawyers, judges, construction workers, teachers, of all ages, genders, and race writing fanfiction. Avon is truly the loser in this world, for he does not understand that we authors, fanfic writers, do not write for reviews, nor for desire of the approval of others, but to make ourselves happy with our own work. We write because we simply need to.. well write. *bangs fist on table* and I will not let one measly flame bring down my writing career. I do not go down easily. I appreciate what you have done and written in your very significant review. You see I am not a sucker for the _amount_ of reviews, more of _the length_ and _depth_ of the review and reviewer.  
  
Moreover, I loved the piece of wisdom you gave me at the end of your review, how the architect was basically humiliated and mocked openly but he went on to make one of the wonders of the Present-day World that still stands to today. I will not let this beautiful fanfic go to the clutches of original writing, nor to the trashcan, or even to rot in self-pity. I will continue writing no matter what ANYONE says. Even if there were a hundred flames given to me (thank goodness they aren't though!) I'd still keep writing because I have a dream for this fanfic. A beautiful and deep ending. One that will hopefully symbolize the survival of suicide as we know it (maybe, maybe not). I do not know. But I do know I shall keep writing even if I were blind, deaf, mute, and paralyzed. I'd write with my mind if I could. *bows again* Thank you, Linda. Thank you so much.  
  
**  
To Laura:** I am happy I have given you inspiration for your fanfic (By the way I love B/H pair ups, I want more of those) and hope to see your idea posted up, because one B/H relationships are always deep, there's always a history behind it. Second, I agree with you. I am not ashamed of Hey Arnold! In fact I embrace it, (even though I have yet to see the movie) No need for a trade (though I will read your story no matter what the costs!), or for you to even send me reviews via email. I will continue to upload and update, no matter what anyone says, positive or negative. As I said to Linda, I will not go down the easily. *bows* Thank you along with Linda, for knocking even more sense into my head.  
  
**To:kittycatgurl, Flower Powerer, Helga243, HgS, Sprinkles, Smilys :** You're all right! *kicks Avon Belac* I shall not listen to his reviews, I shall continue on with this fanfic, and finish or so God help me, strike me with thunder and lightening! *goes off to write a kickass chapter*  
  
(The ages won't be needed in this chapter, and it will be rather short, so forgive me, but there aren't any flashbacks, or any changes of view. There's one special moment with a real character (in our world that is), but it will be brief. This chapter will center mostly on Helga. Cheryl Leon is a real-life person in my life that is devoted to God, and whatever I say in here is based on the truth, even though she doesn't go day to day to hospitals to check on suicide survivors and preach to them she does in here. ^_^ Enjoy my friends.)  
  
  
  
Helga-age 17  
Cheryl Leon- age 39  
  
  
**(A thank you to Grace for beta reading this- I tuned down the Christian aspects in this chapter and to all the Non-Christians. -_-;; I'm kind of scared that God'll strike me down with lightening or something.^^;;)**  
  
  
  


  
  
  
Dreams of Blue Skies  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter Eight  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Helga watched as Brainy finally left. She managed to persuade him to eat something and leave her alone. For once.  
  
  
She sighed. She liked Brainy and all, but the boy was far too clingy. 'I suppose he's afraid I might jump out of the window or something..' She humorlessly thought as she looked at the closed window. It had started raining no less than three minutes ago, and she wondered what it was like in her Dream World right about now.  
  
  
'I have to stop it. There's no such thing.. everything in that dream was a bunch of bull.' Helga tried to convince herself as she closed her eyes, but not intending on sleeping, lest she go back into her "Dream World", even though she pretended it didn't exist. Her eyes twitched but were stilled closed as she heard footsteps.  
  
"Brainy I thought I said-"  
  
"I'm not Brainy." Came an unexpected voice.  
  
Helga opened her eyes at once and saw a near six foot woman with dark purple/reddish purple hair that was cut in a boyish style in a beige skirt, black pointy boots and a V-neck blue cotton blouse. She had kind and patient blue eyes with a sharpness to them, and seemed to penetrate to one's soul. She had a cream colored box with a bright pink ribbon on it resting on the crook of her hip, but Helga didn't take much notice to it. Helga glared, feeling all the anger she was holding back from Brainy come down like a waterfall.  
  
"Who are you and what do you want?" Helga felt suspicious of this woman who came in her room for no reason.  
  
The woman shrugged. "Just to talk. I do that with suicide survivors."  
  
Helga narrowed her eyes. "Well, go talk to someone else then because I'm not in the mood."   
  
The woman smiled gently. "Ok, I can do that, but first I have to introduce myself. Hi, I'm Cheryl Leon." Cheryl stuck out her hand towards Helga. Arching an eyebrow, she gave Cheryl a look that said, "You've got to be kidding me."  
  
Cheryl continued to hold out her hand, her expression never faltering. After a couple of moments of silence between them, Helga finally took her hand in a firm shake.  
  
"I'm Helga Pataki."   
  
"Nice to meet you. You have a nice name.. hmm. Pataki. Isn't that Europe-oriented?" Cheryl asked as she got her book and settled down into a seat where Brainy sat in only ten minutes ago. Helga grunted in response.  
  
"Why are you here?"  
  
  
"I was sent from God." Came Cheryl's automatic response. Helga widened her eyes and her jaw dropped a little. Cheryl noticed and laughed.  
  
  
"I'm sorry, just a little joke of mine I give to all the people I meet in the hospital. It always freaks them out."  
  
  
"Well, it worked, bucko." Her deadpan tone created another silence in the room. Cheryl again smiled, as gently as before, like how a Grandmother would smile upon her grandchild after she played in the mud and came in all dirty.  
  
  
"So, Helga, tell me, why did you attempt suicide?"  
  
  
"I just did it. Do I really need a reason?" Helga slumped against her pillows, giving a pissed off look. Cheryl continued to smile, though she copied Helga and laid back in her hospital chair.  
  
  
"Yes." Came Cheryl's simple answer.  
  
  
Helga looked away from the woman, beginning to become angrier by the second. Flashes of her ignorant father, her perfect sister, her awful grades, Lila with Arnold, Phoebe not being her friend anymore, being stuck in the situation with seeing only one way out, came into her mind. Growling, she turned away and looked out. The rain had become harder.  
  
  
"Well, even if I did have a reason, I'm not going to tell _you_." Helga hoped that would have deterred Cheryl, but she didn't seem fazed by it at all.  
  
  
"Helga, how about we strike a deal? You tell me something about yourself and I tell you something about myself." Helga arched an eyebrow. Wasn't this the same trick that Dr. Bliss once used on her?  
  
  
"..ok.." Helga agreed, seeing no harm in it, though she kept glaring. Something inside of her wanted to be mean to everyone, wanted to be a nasty little bitch to anyone who crossed her path, giving them a taste of her private demons. Helga just wanted to hurt someone, whether it be physically or mentally. Just to make them suffer.  
  
  
"My husband's a pastor and a councilman of this city."   
  
  
"I'm 17, no one cares for me except for two people, I guess.." Helga's tone hateful.  
  
  
"I'm a mother of two children and am a believer in God."  
  
  
"I'm failing in High School, the man of my dreams is going out with a total witch."  
  
  
"I used to smoke pot a decade ago and was Saved before I overdosed."  
  
  
"..I cut myself, attempted fatal suicide only yesterday, and threw my life away."  
  
  
"What makes you say that?"  
  
  
"..Because.. Everyone's going to be like-like they're going to act as if I'm glass. Like if I get offended I might break. They're going to think I'm this supersensitive girl who would break down crying and cut herself in front of everyone because she's so depressed and pathetic. And-and all the teachers are going to be like, 'Aww, the poor dear attempted suicide, let's give her pity..' and whisper to eachother, thinking that no one could hear them. I don't want that!" Helga sneered, seeing it all happen before on TV and in movies.  
  
  
"Maybe, maybe not. You really don't know if that'll happen for sure." Cheryl seem to have a half-smile.   
  
  
"Neither do you." Helga pointed out.  
  
  
"Point taken. But there is something I do know."  
  
  
"And what, pray tell is that, lady?" Helga spat out the words.  
  
"God's got a plan for everyone, whether it be someone's friend in their time of need, teaching someone a special lesson, or even," Cheryl made a gesture to herself, "Visiting people in the hospital that attempted suicide."  
  
  
Helga stared at Cheryl, refusing to make a sound. Mrs. Leon took it as a sign to move on with her talking.  
  
  
"You see Helga. Everyone's got a special little mission in life, and God didn't mean for someone that he so much time on to just waste it on pitiful Earthly reasons. However, as humans, we are naturally tempted to do sin. Drink, drugs, sex, you name anything bad, we want it. We also want the good things. Love, happiness, concern, respect, trust. The only thing is that the bad is attained easier than good. You have to work for love sometimes, you have to endure lengths for respect, you must earn trust from a person after waiting. However if you want drugs, booze and sex all you have to do is go downtown, steal from a bum, pick up a prostitute and find a drug dealer."   
  
  
Helga blinked at the bluntness of Cheryl's words. The dark haired woman continued on.  
  
  
"Suicide is a weakness, Helga. Admitting to your life as a failure is suicide, which makes it a weakness-" Cheryl was cut off by Helga.  
  
  
"I'm not weak, I'm-..." Helga searched for the right words.  
  
  
"..You're what, Helga? I'm sorry to be so blunt but that's how the truth usually is. It hurts, it festers, and finally it scars. It scars into your mind and your soul. Reality isn't a pretty thing. I won't go on and on about how people's lives are much worse than ours, because they are, we can change it, but we're too consumed in our own lives to really do anything about it. I'm not here to preach to you about helping the unfortunate people, because like you said, you don't want pity so why should they? Why should they have no pride in themselves? Why must there be so much evil in this dimension of ours? Why is the Yang overpowering the Ying? 'Why's' are a perfectly bad waste of time, and possibly good."   
  
  
Helga now fiddled with her thin cotton sheets. Why was this woman's words getting to her?  
  
  
"So, Helga, please tell me why you would throw away the precious gift of life? Enlighten me, please. Your reason might be good, then again it might not. I want to know." Cheryl asked, leaning forward, putting the cream box aside in the empty seat beside her.  
  
  
Helga felt tears sting her eyes, and took a couple of breaths of air to calm herself down as she closed her eyes and leaned into her pillows. After a few moments, she spoke.  
  
  
"Everything. Everything went wrong. It all started two weeks ago, I woke up in the morning, I got into a fight my homeroom teacher, it wasn't a big deal. Then at lunch, I was going to tell this guy, that I had a crush-no I actually loved him ever since Kinder, and he was kissing this other girl, and well, I ran out and ditched school. Two days later I cut myself, a while after that, I started ditching school more and more, cutting myself more and more, like it was an addiction. I-I just couldn't stop. The pain was so beautiful and it made everything else fade away, like it was all a dream. Then when the blood stopped flowing and the bandages were wrapped, reality set it and the dream was shattered to little itty-bits, leaving me to pick up the pieces.  
  
  
"I smoked cigarettes, got into a fight with my best friend, my family didn't notice my depression at all, which shows how much they care about me. I mean they hardly remember my name, let alone that I still live there. Why should they take notice of a waste of space? Maybe I got what I deserve..." Helga mused, as she tightened her grip on the sheets.  
  
  
"Then my grades started failing, I almost got suspended, I stopped speaking-literally-to everyone around me, I think I may have gotten a little unbalanced last week because I took some pills that my Mom uses. Anyway I started drawing with my blood, all these gory pictures of suffering and talked to myself a lot. There were voices in my head telling me to get it over with and I just listened to them because I had nothing to live for.   
  
  
"No friends, no love, no family. Why even bother breathing? I told myself, because what started out with the guy of my dreams going out with another girl, perfect by the way, ended up in almost fatal suicide. You have to see where I screwed up majorly. I doubt I can even bounce back after this. It seems impossible." Helga said quietly, wiping the trails of tears that left her cheeks. She'd be damned before she'd be seen weak. Cheryl smiled. It wasn't the grandmotherly smile from before-it was a smile that a mother gave to her child when she was teased at school and said, "Everything's going to be all right, now."  
  
  
"Helga, don't you see that nothing is ever impossible? As for your reason to suicide, it was foolish, but then again who can blame you? Many people are shadowed by doubt and sorrow, and think that there's only one way out. When in truth there's always more than one way out, there are two ways. Give up, or fight. And believe me, Helga, you don't seem like the quitting kind to me." Cheryl gave a quirk of a smile. "Don't disappoint yourself by thinking of yourself so low. You are much higher than this, much stronger. Don't admit that your weak. Don't give into criticism, don't give into failure, don't give into the voices that say that your weak. Beat them at their own game. Beat them cruelly."  
  
  
More tears came down Helga's cheeks as she listened, spellbound by this purple-haired woman's words. Why? Was all she could think..  
  
  
"Remember, only you can help yourself.." Cheryl smiled. Helga gave a blanch and snapped out of her daze.  
  
  
"What did you say?" She said quickly, as if she thought she had imagined it but needed reassurance. Cheryl gave another one of her small smiles and got up, extending her hand to Helga.  
  
  
"It's been a pleasure, Miss Pataki. A pleasure, indeed." Cheryl whispered as the shell-shocked Helga numbly took Cheryl's hand and lightly shook it. The mysterious woman named Cheryl left out the door. She never noticed the flash of light afterwards. Helga blinked and looked around. It was all a fast-paced daze, though she could remember the words so clearly.  
  
  
  
Remember, only you can help yourself...  
  
  
  
  
The words still rang in her head. It could have been simple coincidence; it could be chance, or perhaps with Helga's damned luck, a hallucination. Or was it something else? Helga looked at the place where Cheryl once occupied and saw a cream box with pink ribbons. Leaning to the side, she clutched it and set it front of her. It seemed ordinary enough, but there was a little card under the bow. Opening it, she widened her eyes.  
  
  
"Remember, Miss Pataki, hope is inside, love can be regained, courage lives forever in the heart, and those three can't die. They can fade a little, they can be buried, but they can never die. Recovering takes courage to stand, and hope to go on, and the love of others to fuel the hope. Survive.  
  
-Cheryl  
  
p.s. Inside are gifts. Enjoy them and your life. Rebuilding isn't so hard."  
  
  
Helga looked outside her window. The rain seemed to ease up a bit. Putting the box to the side, she closed her eyes, and slept.  
  
  
  
And dreamt.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
TBC..  
  
  
  
  
Ok, if the ending or anything else in this chapter was corny, blame me. I'm sorry *bows* don't throw fruit at me or anything.  
  
  
Again thank you everyone who put their confidence in me. But I am confused on one thing:  
  
  
  
Should Brainy get with Helga or Arnold with Helga?   
  
  
  
You see it's been driving me up the wall. I originally had this fanfic planned out as a romance/drama/angst ending with Helga with Arnold. But now-after seeing how many Brainy/Helga fans have arisen because of the third chapter and stuff, I'm not so sure.  
  
  
I could have Arnold love Helga, but Helga falls out of love with him and with Brainy, leaving Arnold as the broken one, or I could have Arnold and Helga be together and Brainy find another love (or be broken), or I could have Helga end up doing a successful suicide in the end, leaving both men heartbroken, or I could just have no romance in it at all. *sighs* It really does boggle your mind. So email or review (whichever works) me about your opinion on the whole matter; whether Helga should end up with...  
  
**  
A.** Brainy  
**B.** Arnold  
or **C.** No one (she should die in a successful suicide attempt. A tragic ending, yes, but if that's the way it's gotta be, then so be it.)  
  
  
Email me at **Phoenix67851@aol.com **  
  
  
  
-Bunni 


	10. Degrees

Rating: R for language, mild suicide description, and gore.  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own Hey Arnold! which rightfully belongs to Nickelodeon and Craig Barlett (If I spelled it incorrectly, tell me so).  
  
Fanfic Summary: Helga snaps after she sees various things in her life go wrong, grades, family, friends, and her love. She see's the only way out after one night. Will someone save her before it was too late?  
  
Chapter Summary: Arnold tries to talk with Phoebe, Gerald comforts Phoebe, Mr. Simmons enters the picture again, and Helga dreams again. WARNING: Gore, extreme drama, and a probable tear-jerker.  
  
(Shout out to these reviewers who voted: **Flower Powerer, Vicky, Naiad, humble, TWIR, Eudial (I really appreciated you review), Sprinkles, Linda, Smilys, SilentTears, Laurel, Danielle.**  
  
I will take your votes into consideration ^___^ and we shall soon say what the ending shall bring us. And to those who complimented me on my writing; extra thanks, you boosted my ego a couple of notches, which may or may not be a good thing. O.o;;)  
  
  
**(A thanks to beta-readers, Liz. A warning is that later on in the chapter there maybe some gore and horror. Feel free to skim or skip it.)**  
  
  


  
  
Dreams of Blue Skies  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter Nine  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
Phoebe jingled her change in her hand as she tried to get a soda from the worn down coke machine. Damn her weakness. Damn her for crying. Phoebe berated herself mentally. She couldn't stand to be around those accursed depressing letters; neither could the others. The nurses had told them to go home, because there was nothing they could do for Helga, and that they were probably missed by their parents. Phoebe stayed behind. How could she leave?  
  
It would have been wrong on her part. Helga was her best friend. She always was. Granted the first years of their budding relationship had been moreover a slave-and-master kind, it had evolved into something much healthier, something more than the simple commands: it actually grew into a "normal" friendship.  
  
Remembering all the times they spent together, it brought happy memories: Like when she and Helga decided to try out for cheerleading in Junior High, only to be humiliated, and then Helga came up with the idea to get them back "Pataki Style". Phoebe smiled at that memory. The cheerleaders definitely did get the "Pataki Style" and got it good, by Helga and her spraying grape soda all over the brand-new cheerleading uniforms and insert honey into their pompoms, therefore after freeing the wild bees during a school assembly. Phoebe blinked. Boy had they had to answer to the Principal or what. Though Helga took the blame, saving Phoebe's spotless record.  
  
  
What a fool she was to care about something as mediocre as a "record" seemingly "spotless". Helga saved her skin from a lot of trouble whenever she risked it on the line to go and rebel, always fretting over whether it'll stain her permanent record or not, making Helga always take the blame, albeit not intentionally.  
  
  
She really was a dunce. Helga cared enough to risk her record, why shouldn't she do the same? Right now, she should be in school.. no-that isn't where she should be.. here. Here is where she belonged.  
  
  
Phoebe leaned against the cool-feeling wall, goosebumps sprouted from contact of plaster to her ivory skin. Why Helga? Phoebe thought as she nibbled on her lip, absently playing with the aluminum tab of her soda. Why did you have to go and do such a stupid thing Why ruin your life like that?   
  
Though Phoebe was never a strong believer in Christ, she did think life was indeed something to behold and cherish, not throw away. Never did she think, not in a million years, did she ever think that her best friend that she seemed to know, would ever attempt suicide or even contemplate the thought.  
  
A shiver went down her spine. Suicide. What a horrible word. The word was derived from two Latin components, _sui_, meaning "self," and _caedere_, meaning "to kill". It has been studied and prodded at from the start. Is it right or is it wrong? Many religions, such as Muslim think that if you die in the name of the Lord's work, it isn't suicide. Others like Christian and Jewish, believe suicide is an unforgivable sin, one that shall condemn you to Hell without even trying. Doctors use it as a "mercy device" to "relieve" the patient of their misery; people try it everyday, male or female, black, white, yellow, brown, of all different races, young and old, just to escape their whirl-a-round of pain.  
  
They believe that there is only one way out. And it was self-death; to impale oneself with a sharp object, to bleed freely, to overdose on pills, to fly downwards from a building, to drown oneself "accidentally," to hang oneself from the ceiling. Yes, there were lots of ways to do it but all had the same principle. To die.  
  
  
"..Phoebe?" A voice rang out. Phoebe blinked again, cursing herself for zoning out. She looked up and saw friendly green eyes and an odd-shaped head. She warily smiled, though it looked more forced than natural.  
  
"Arnold."   
  
Arnold looked worriedly at her. He had just been to the waiting room to find it nearly empty save the other worried people here for their loved ones. The old P.S. 118 crew was gone save for Gerald, Phoebe, himself and Brainy, but Brainy didn't look like he was going to talk to Arnold anytime soon.  
  
"Are you ok?"  
  
"..yeah, Arnold. I'm just.. thinking.." Phoebe looked down at rubbed her hand on her other arm. Arnold gave a sympathetic smile; he knew the feeling.  
  
"Same here."  
  
There was a silence, only the faint ringing of the telephones and shouts from the medical staff was heard in the distance. Arnold cleared his throat uncomfortably.  
  
"Phoebe?"  
  
"Yes?" She still didn't look up.  
  
"I think we should talk." All seriousness rang in Arnold's voice. Phoebe looked up, still playing with the tab of the soda.  
  
"About what?"  
  
"You know what."  
  
"Oh.." Phoebe said softly, as she understood. Arnold wanted to talk about Helga. "Why?"  
  
"It's just that- that.." Arnold gave a frustrated sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. "Did you expect this to happen? If you did, how come I didn't or anyone else? Why didn't anyone stop it from actually happening?"  
  
"..There were warning signs. Plenty in fact.. it's just that.. that no one really expected _Helga_ to do it. She's so strong, so independent, no one really expected her to crash down like that." Her voice wavered a bit at the end.  
  
Arnold nodded. "I blame myself for not noticing sooner. I mean, I am the guy that always notices these kinds of things-" He was cut off by Phoebe.  
  
"-and always manage to save the day just in time. I know Arnold. But things aren't like they were back in elementary. Sometimes there are things beyond our reach, things we try to stop but only fail. You know Helga had a saying, 'Don't let the pigeon crap on you, ruin your day.'" Phoebe smirked a little at the end. Arnold gave a short chuckle. Yeah, that is something like what Helga would say. Phoebe giggled a little. Somehow the small bit of humor of Helga's "wise" saying cheered them up on the rainy day.  
  
"..I never knew she loved me.." The laugh died shortly after Arnold spoke. Phoebe gave a gentle smile.  
  
"So she told you?"  
  
"Yeah.. through the letter.."  
  
"Letter?" Phoebe had a sad look. That was the reason she was out here still. Her weakness, her tears, it all came back on her.  
  
"Phoebe, are those things true?"  
  
Phoebe bit her lip, causing some blood to seep out. What to do? What to do?  
  
"...yes.. Yes, Arnold they are true." Arnold turned pale.  
  
"Al-all of it?" His voice became weak and unbelieving.  
  
"That depends on what she told you. Now all I know is that she loved ever since kinder, had to cover it up with a bully facade, and that it was the start of this damn situation!" Phoebe uncharacteristically spat out bitterly. Arnold flinched a little, and Phoebe noticed, and softened her face.  
  
"Sorry, Arnold. It's the whole thing. It just sort of rushed out on me."  
  
Arnold nodded, forgiving her immediately, though it did disturb him that even Phoebe thought he was to blame.. "You don't think it was my fault? Maybe If I arrived earlier or-"  
  
Phoebe cut him off for the second time in their conversation. "No Arnold." She said firmly. "It isn't your fault. It was all of ours. The 'maybes' won't do us any good right now, or even the 'what ifs', nor dwelling on the past. If you want something to know about Helga, all I can say is that Helga is a girl of many rules, no one exactly knows what goes on in her head.   
  
"She's basically a mystery; an enigma, if you will. No one expected her to strike out like that. A depression like hers usually takes months to come about and surface into something serious like suicide, so something must have really gotten to her to attempt fatal suicide after-.." Both knew what she meant. The get-together with Lila and Arnold. Arnold nodded, as Phoebe continued, "For now, all we can do is just.. watch.. Don't let the pigeon crap on our shoulder ruin our day."  
  
Arnold gave a short smile. "Yeah.."   
  
"Hey Arnold!.." A familiar voice rang out.  
  
They both turned and saw Gerald walking toward them. Phoebe, on any other circumstance, on any other occasion, would have blushed and shied away from Gerald's presence, but not today. Today was different.  
  
Arnold acknowledged his friend in a nod, and seeped into somewhat a deep thought. "Gerald. You know Phoebe?"  
  
Gerald directed his attention to the short seventeen-year old. He slightly smirked.  
  
"Yeah, I've seen her around campus." Giving a small wink to her, which she avoided cleverly.  
  
"Gerald." She said politely, never forgetting her manners. Just because she was mourning her friend, doesn't mean she could be rude to a guy she obviously liked. She played with the tab more.  
  
"Am I interrupting something?" Gerald questioned at the silence. Could it be..  
  
"What?! No!" Came their immediate yells. Gerald chuckled a little and put his hands up in weak protest.  
  
"Just an assumption.. Don't shoot me now."  
  
Phoebe didn't notice how her finger slipped and the soda came all around her chest and face, matting her hair of its sugary contents. Both men jumped in surprise at the unexpected incident.  
  
"Oh shoot!" Phoebe cried as the brown liquid seeped itself into the light blue blouse. No matter. It wasn't as if it were a particular favorite of hers.  
  
"Gerald, I think you should help Phoebe-"  
  
"No, Arnold that's ok, I'm-"  
  
"No nothing. Gerald." Arnold gestured  
  
"Where you going, Arnold?" Gerald questioned as he gently grasped Phoebe's arm and started leading her to the nearest restroom.  
  
"I don't know, but I have to trust my instincts." That was all that came out of Arnold as he left, in the direction of Helga's room, busy connecting the pieces.  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
*********  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
Gerald guided the silent Phoebe to the restroom. Phoebe went inside, with Gerald watching her, not knowing why he was doing what he was doing. Oblivious to his staring, Phoebe took washcloths and dampened them, desperately trying to get the stain out. To get clean. To be free of guilt.  
  
Wait.. Phoebe stopped. Where did that come from? To be free of guilt? Am I guilty? Did she feel guilty for not stopping Helga in time?   
  
Yes. Yes, she did.  
  
Tears started to roll down her cheeks. She was supposed to stop Helga. She was supposed to be a best friend that noticed something was wrong! Damn it, why didn't she notice sooner? Why wasn't she the kind of best friend that helped?  
  
Gerald got closer to her, noticing her tears. "Phoebe, you oka-" He was cut off by yelling from Phoebe.  
  
"WHY?! Why did this have to happen?" Phoebe choked on her tears, throwing down her washcloth. "Why couldn't I save her, or she come to me for help? Why did she have to close herself off, and I didn't do anything?"  
  
Gerald didn't say anything except rub her back comfortingly. His mother used to do this whenever he was stressed out and upset, reminiscing, Gerald gave a small smirk at the memory. Phoebe moved closer and rested her cheek against Gerald's left shoulder.  
  
"God, Gerald! I'm such an awful friend!" Phoebe sobbed into the African-American man's shoulder. Gerald had a confused look as he tried to figure out what to do. He had never comforted females. Usually he was the reason that he made them cry, and always walked away, but with Phoebe-he couldn't do that. He couldn't be that indifferent and cruel. Afterall he did have some attraction towards the crying female.  
  
"Sshh.. it's ok, Phi.." He shushed her crying as he rocked her in his arms. "It's ok.."  
  
'I wish it was..' Phoebe thought as she openly cried into Gerald's body. Somehow she felt oddly comforted by him just being there, yet the freshly sprung-up guilt inside of her was alive, faint now that Gerald was there, but still there.  
  
  
  
  
  


**  
******  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  


**-Start Dream-  
  
**

  
  
Helga opened her eyes only for her to shut them again against the cruel and harsh wind blowing against her. She shielded her eyes with her hand as she looked around, and couldn't help but feel horrified at the sight.   
  
  
Her Dream World was ruined.  
  
  
Trees were uprooted and scattered around, the grey fields were strewn and separated violently, the sky rumbled with ominous lightening and thunder. It was horrible. Helga looked around and saw her house, monotone as ever, separated in two, broken windows, glass everywhere; the weeds overgrew, making a dry-vine like appearance to the dull colored picket fence. Lightening crackled in the distance, trying to intimidate her.  
  
  
Helga walked, her clothes blowing and moving with the rapid air movement. She shivered. It felt as though someone dipped in her in ice water; it was so cold, so.. arctic here. Helga had gotten closer and saw a flicker of yellow. Rushing towards it, she saw her counterpart, laying on the ground, looking at the sky, oblivious to all around her.   
  
  
Alarmed, Helga leaned down at looked at herself. Yes, a rather strange experience. Her other self blinked and turned her head to look at Helga, but her expression remained neutral.  
  
  
"Helga."  
  
  
Helga tried to speak, but found she couldn't. She literally couldn't. Her vocal cords seemed to cease all function, leaving her speechless.  
  
  
"Speechless, eh?" Her counterpart seemed to read her thoughts again. Glaring, Helga nodded, pointing to her throat.  
  
  
"Feh.." Her counterpart ignored to give any other words. "Yeah, I know... have a nice time out in the Real World?" The last part came unexpectantly bitter. Helga widened her eyes out of shock, somehow knowing this was widely out of character. Her counterpart paid no mind to Helga, and went on staring at the sky. Helga followed her look-alike's gaze.  
  
The sky was a turmoil of emotions, which confused her. Could the sky express emotions? No, it couldn't!  
  
"Why not?" Helga turned back to her look-alike. She was still staring at the sky.  
  
'Why not what?' Helga thought back, figuring out that her look-alike could read her thoughts. It had been so obvious from the start.  
  
"Why not? Why can't the sky feel?"  
  
The question was dumbfounding, so ridiculous, that Helga had no answer.  
  
"You know, the sky cries sometimes, and sometimes it hides. Ever wonder why it's blue?" The question came with a wistful sigh. Helga didn't answer, just laid on her back and looked up at the sky with her counterpart. "I do.." Her counterpart resumed talking. "I miss the blue skies." Helga ignored her counterpart's seemingly insane ramblings and continued to gaze at the sky, trying to figure out the big mystery.  
  
The sky. It could feel. It could actually feel!  
  
Anger.  
  
Sadness.  
  
Depression.  
  
Hope.  
  
All blended together so well, so artistically, so-.. beautifully and sorrowfully, yet Helga couldn't surpress her excitement, her passion alighted with the feelings.   
Feel.  
  
It's been, or seemed like a long time since she last tried that. The sky continued to rumble, and lightening seemed closer than before.  
  
Helga closed her eyes. Time seemed to stop for her. She could feel no pain for once. The heart-wrenching ache in her soul eased, the cold pit in stomach warmed.. she could feel.. the hope. Something cold prickled down at her forehead. It felt smooth like water and rolled down her temple, and landed in the grass.  
  
  
There! There it was again, this time it landed on her cheek near her eye. Helga opened her eye, and widened in surprise. The grass turned charcoal grey, the clouds above, so black and troubled, had sprouted rain. Helga covered her nose. A rancid stench reached her senses, and had made the bile in her throat rise.  
  
  
'Oh God! What is that smell?' Helga looked next to her and found that her counterpart was no longer there. She scanned the area and found everything decaying, but no look-alike her. She got up and walked around, going through knee-high meadows, separating it. Helga almost called out her counterpart's name, when she remembered that she couldn't speak or know her look-alike's name. Rolling her eyes, she saw that searching out in the open wasn't working and made her way back to the house to look inside.  
  
  
At the house, she stepped inside. It was déjà vu all over again. A faint crunching noise and a sharp pain came from under her. Helga gasped and picked up her barefoot to find glass half-imbedded in it, with blood, red as ever. It dropped to the ground, mingling with the rain. Helga forcefully pulled out the piece of glass out of her foot and winced. She didn't think she'd feel pain, afterall it was just a dream.  
  
Right?  
  
Shaking her head, she limped towards the door, still hanging from it's hinges, lopsided as ever. Carefully avoiding more glass shards, she made it to her porch. There was swingbench that hung from one side, the other met with the hardwood floor.  
  
Nimbly stepping in, she searched the room. Everything was the way it was before: disheveled, messy, not exactly the coziest view in the world.  
  
Helga passed the 'living room,' her assumption of course, and moved down the hall, looking more closely at the broken frames of pictures on the wall. Most were smashed, glass hanging off, barely hanging on, covered with smudges so she wouldn't know what or who was in the picture.  
  
'If this is my house, than maybe it's pictures of me.. or my family.' Helga thought bemused. Her have a family? What a laugh. As much as she knew, she lived alone in this house and probably had about twenty different cats all named after famous poets. Helga wanted so much to laugh at that dry and sad humor, if it weren't for her vocal cords not functioning.  
  
She passed the kitchen, and expected to see the old version of her still huddled in the corner. What Helga saw, made her back away a couple of steps.  
  
Her other self was hanging from the ceiling, hung by a corded rope. Flies were buzzing around her obviously dead carcass, and the crystal blue eyes that held fear when Helga first saw them were open and vacant. Helga held her stomach, afraid of the bile that threatened to rise up.   
  
  
Helga walked on, never looking back at the horrid sight.  
  
  
She hear the indistinct sound of crows in the distance. Helga's mind was swimming with questions. Why did her future self die and become such a decayed corpse? Where was her other self? And more importantly.. were her other selves dead also?  
  
  
Helga turned around the maze of hallways and came into a room only look away and retch on the floor.  
  
  
Her three year old self, still in dirty pink overalls was blue in the face, wet and cold it looked, with dried blood streaming from the young child's ears, her eyes halfway closed. Bruises covered the young three-year old's neck. Helga drew in a shaky breath and stumbled out of the room. She wandered around, clutching her stomach, wiping away the remains of her retch from her lips, grimacing at the aftertaste.  
  
She looked out the broken window and saw crows on the branches of a dead tree. They cawed, their black eyes eyeing her. Helga scowled at them. What were they looking at? Stupid birds..  
  
Helga never did like birds that much. Stepping slowly, cautiously looking around her new surroundings, afraid she might stumbled unto another dead self.  
  
After what seemed like an hour, Helga growled in frustration. The halls and paths and stairs never ended! They just kept going and going and going, like she was to be cursed to walk them forever.  
  
What was she even looking for in the first place?  
  
Helga closed her eyes. 'My.. my other self. That's what I'm looking for. Where is she?.. she has the answers to the deaths.' Helga was still puzzled at the death of her two other selves. Her older self, her younger child self.. all that was left was her other self and nine-year old self. But maybe they were still alive. That was when the now familiar smell of rotting flesh came to her nose.  
  
She indeed spoke too soon.  
  
Gasping, she covered her mouth, eyes wide as she looked at the dead nine-year old. The nine-year old Helga's wrists were slashed repeatedly, her hair matted with dried blood, sleeping ethereally in her own bitter crimson substance. Her eyes were closed, as if she were indeed sleeping, but the only telltale sign that she wasn't was the stillness of her. No breath came from her lips, and her skin was a sick shade of white, too pale to be normal.  
  
She was dead alright. Helga felt more bile rise up in her throat, and tried to swallow it back down. Running away, she knew that she had to find her other self, before death did.  
  
Stumbling into an open door way, she found her otherself, staring out a wide window, overlooking the deceased empire. Miles around there were brownish-grey fields, trees clutching over and withering fast, crows acted as black shadows. The storm produced wide amounts of lightening and rain, causing some of the fields to overflow.   
  
"Hello Helga..." Came the dreamy breath of her counterpart. Helga stood still, watching her look-alike carefully. Something wasn't right..  
  
Then came the bitter and biting chill of her counterpart's laugh. How hollow it sounded, how.. disturbing.  
  
"Damn right it's disturbing!" Her counterpart turned, and a chillsome smile was planted on her features. Helga didn't move, save for her step back.  
  
Her counterpart continued to laugh, then stopped suddenly, staring at Helga with dark and displeased face. "I hate you, you know."  
  
Helga gripped the frame of the doorway hard, still staring right at her look-alike. There was something so dark and twisted in her eyes.. it wasn't even human.  
  
"I've always hated you. I've just come to realize it recently. You, always going into the Real World, leaving me in this hellhole." She spat. "When it should be _YOU_ in here. Not me! It was always supposed to me out there but you, you ungrateful little bitch. You had the chance, while I, I was forced to be reduced as your damn subconscious! I hate you!"  
  
'You..you killed them didn't you?' Helga whispered mentally, eyes wide with fear.  
  
Her counterpart had pleased expression. "Yes it was me. What can I say? They were annoying me, the buggers.." She gave a cold chuckle.  
  
Helga couldn't believe it. Her counterpart had gone insane; but who wouldn't after spending most of their time here? Here in this dead land?  
  
'You're crazy..'  
  
"Perhaps I am.. but even if I am crazy, I finally realized that I am worthy of life and you aren't. You know what it's like living here?!" She screamed, taking out the black revolver that Helga only used days ago. Helga stood, stunned to even flex a muscle.  
  
"Over and over I hear their pathetic screams of help, how I'm supposed to nice and understanding, ever-faithful to the Lord. Well screw that basturd!" She gave another chilling chuckle. "Now to finish you off.." Helga's look-alike cocked the gun. "You know, I'm going to enjoy this.."  
  
'You are crazy...' Helga thought as she backed away. 'What the hell happened to you?'  
  
"I simply grew tired of the nice and caring shit." Her look-alike grinned madly as she advanced towards Helga. Helga stumbled back as her look-alike pounced on her like a panther on a gazelle. She aimed the gun at the struggling yet fallen Helga and pulled the trigger.  
  
  
  


  
-End Dream-  


  
  
  
  


  
  
**  
*****  
  
  
  
  
  
**  


  
Mr. Simmons finally made his way to Helga's room. He opened the door, and peered inside. The light inside was dim, but the flashes of lightening from outside outlined the figures. There were machines hooked to Helga, small tubes connecting with her veins and other openings, a small I.V. monitor was on his right side 'bleeped' every now and then. He could faintly make out the body intertwined with the sheets and the glistening of blond hair shimmering from the light outside to be Helga. The old teacher stepped forward in the lightened darkness and came to Helga's bed. He set down the white roses on the seat next to him, making a note to himself to ask for a vase for it.  
  
"So, Helga, tell me, my dear, why did you do this?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"I see you won't answer me then." Mr. Simmons gave a short chuckle that sounded warm and friendly, familiar to a child seeing Santa Claus for the first time, and suddenly being afraid until he hears that laugh of his. So bright and cheery even in the darkest of hours and the bleakest of nights.  
  
"No matter, dear. I take no offense." Still no answer. "I bet you are wondering why I am here, eh?.." Upon hearing no voiced opinions, he continued. "Well, I shall have you know that I was worried about you. My dear, suicide is not the answer. It may seemed that way, but it isn't. When you were in my class, I saw something rather special. You, my dear, had a soul and were far more mature than others your age, like Arnold. You were like a darker side to his.  
  
"I knew you loved him, but why waste your life? There's always hope, no matter how dark the night or cloudy the rain... Helga, I won't go into 'special' details now, but- ahem.." Mr. Simmons cleared his throat a little and looked absently out the window. The rain had gotten much worse.  
  
Mr. Simmons directed his attention back to her. "Helga.. there are so many words that I want to say, so many things I want to tell you, but I don't know how to express them. All I can say Helga, is that when one of my children, yes mine, hurt themselves, I feel concerned. More than concerned. Worried. I will help you with whatever power, though it may not be a lot on some other people's opinion, I swear I'll help you recover from this...Helga?" Mr. Simmons' smile faded a little when he saw her hand twitch and her whole body shook violently.  
  
"Helga?!"  
  
Mr. Simmons jumped from his seat and made for the door.  
  
"Nurse?!" He cried out then went out into the hallway. "NURSE!"  
  
  
  
  


**  
  
****  
**  


  
  
  
  
  
  
Helga could faintly hear the doctors around her working as she felt a slight prick into her back, and felt her body calm down and her heart slow down considerably. Everything was a heavy haze, a blur of white light. Her vision was cloudy and before she could even think, her world blacked out.  
  
  
  
No dreams this time.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
TBC...  
  
  
  
Wow am I evil or what to end it there? ^_^ Again thank you to the people who voted. Your reviews will be taken into delicate consideration, but I shall say that Brainy is the winning the race *coughhintcoughhintcough* but to all the H/A lovers out there, and even those that don't want a happy ending but a character death, I will be find a way to please everyone. ^_^ Thanks again.  
  
And now to clear up something. There is a P/G pairing here. Though it really won't go much into detail, just that part and maybe something brief in the end. Now your asking, if Brainy supposedly will get together with Helga, what will happen to Arnold?  
  
Simple. I'll just make him die in a car crash.  
  
*everyone boos and hisses at her throwing vegetables*  
  
Um.. did I say car crash? I meant he lived alone for a while, became successful in making infomercials and married to some nameless chick.  
  
*others nod in approval*  
  
  
(Inner dilemma)  
  
Ok here's the latest on the poll:  
  
There's several of people saying, "Go with Brainy! Brainy deserves Helga!"  
  
.....and there's alot of people saying, "NO, no! Go with the unhappy realistic ending where Helga dies..!"  
  
Also there's the "Um.. I have no answer, so go with whichever is best.."  
  
And last but not least, there's at least one person for, "Arnold, you dolt! Pick Arnold!"  
  
  
-_-;; It is rather stressful, since I'm rather conflicted. There are some people who says Arnold sucks and Helga should be with Brainy. One: I intended this fanfic, as everyone knows, to be a H/A romance, but now.. I don't know! O.o;; This is what we should vote on now..  
  
A. Happy ending (she gets on with her life, or gets married to either of the two guys, specify in review or email)  
B. Unhappy ending (Helga dies, so on and so forth, like a group suicide *shrugs* just a real sad ending.)  
C. Who really gives a damn? Just give us an ending! (I.E. you don't know)  
  
And no, this is not a feeble attempt to get more reviews, if you think that. I'm just a 14-year old girl desperate to finish her fanfic and need the guidance of my reviewers.  
  
  
Now to do something fairly unexpected, I will plug in a story of a friend of mines.. ok so maybe she's not exactly a friend but pretty darn close to it.   
  
Ditey's fanfic, "Knowing When to Stop" Anyway to summarize it up, How far would Helga go to get Arnold? Would she risk her friends, family, schoolwork? Her life? Truly dramatic and worthy of reviews! *pokes everyone into reading it* In my opinion even better than this fanfic! *everyone gasps* Ah, yes, even better! ^_^  
  
  
Email me at **Phoenix67851@aol.com** for questions, comments, or just say something to me like "Hi there, I'm so and so."  
  
  
-Bunni 


	11. Wake Up Sleeping Beauty

Rating: R for language, mild suicide description, and gore.  
  
Disclaimer: Don't own Hey Arnold! which rightfully belongs to Nickelodeon and Craig Barlett (If I spelled it incorrectly, tell me so).  
  
Fanfic Summary: Helga snaps after she sees various things in her life go wrong, grades, family, friends, and her love. She see's the only way out after one night. Will someone save her before it was too late?  
  
Chapter Summary: A view on someone's take on the tension at school and between Arnold and Brainy, also a personal view on Helga from an unexpected friend (not who you think), and finally Helga wakes up after the 'end' of her nightmares. Who will she find?  
  
  
**Shout out** to: Wow, a lot of reviewers! ^_^ *sniff* You make me feel so wanted! You awesome people are:....**Iris! **(loved your opinion, I'll think about it, and maybe that's the way it'll end)**, Adie(**aww..it's ok! ^_^ your here now!)**, rookee alding, Kireina-Ame **(Wow..you are so deep. I bow to thee *bows*),** SassyAngel **(*sniff*..you so rock..)**, Sprinkles (**..eh...I'll think about it.**), SailorSoul2 **(B/R?? Wow...you sure have out-sight tastes. Argh, pay no attention to my hippie lang. -.-;;)**, Eudial, Ditey **(Mwahahaha! Ofcourse I plugged your fic in! O.o;; I also plugged in another.. hehe, YAY! I'm your friend! ^_^ That makes me so happy...)**, Maxine **(Your review was sensible, and I respect it and listened to it. I just might do that O.o;; or maybe not..I'm not telling, lol)**, savagemind, Flower Powerer **(you are one of the few people that tell me this....you make my life a whole lot easier!)**, Laurel **(LOL, yes, I did surprise alot of people on that take didn't I?), **Miss Matched** (Thanks alot! ^_^ I think I WILL), **Lizzie D** (LOL!!! You flatterer you!..damn, I sounded gay with that part of speech..-.-;;),** Vicky** (Hm...you pose an interesting arguement, and I hope you have great luck with your writing! Your bound to become a great writer!), **Naiad **(*sniff* Now your just buttering me up, now aren't you?), **humble**, **TWIR.**  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
Dreams of Blue Skies  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter Ten  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It had been over a week since Helga had last been in the world of the conscious. The doctors said some inner trauma was triggered while Helga was asleep causing her to go into a deep coma.   
  
  
No one could really guess when she would wake.  
  
  
It could be days, weeks, months, even years before her eyes would open again to the light of the awake world, the doctors emotionlessly exclaimed.  
  
  
Phoebe was devastated. She personally blamed herself for everything that happened: the depression, the attempted suicide, the coma. She had been one of the people to be hit the hardest. She went every chance she could, seeing Helga, trying to see if she woke up, if she gave any sign of improvement, and Gerald always had to drag her away while she was sobbing.  
  
  
Mr. Simmons was in shock, and left shortly after _trying_ to comfort Phoebe, but no avail. He occasionally (rather frequently in other's terms of measurement) to the hospital and read to Helga and had deep conversations with her as if she could hear and talk right back. It seemed absurd, but the doctors encouraged it.  
  
  
Helga's father had occasionally came in, looking skinner and rather yellow-faced, with hallows under his eyes, as if not sleeping. He still commanded and was bossy, and not to mention, glared at Brainy and Arnold every chance he got, ever since the night of the incident. Miriam, Helga's mother, came down, always sober and would take her daughter's hand, and stay silent for the whole visit, until visiting hours were over and hospital attendants had to force her out, while she was kicking and screaming for her "baby girl to wake up" and "not to separate them".  
  
  
Olga was never her cheery self. Sure, she had _tried_. She had even tried to get in touch with her 'little sister' Lila for comfort, but strangely Lila had hung up when she had first heard Olga's attempted cheery voice, sending the blond woman into a fit of tears again, not caring if her make-up was ruined for the third time that day. She had been on her visits with her mother one time, and also had to be carried out of the hospital because she couldn't stop crying. She couldn't go back without breaking down, and had to stay at home, wallowing in her 'cheerful' hobbies.  
  
Gerald, on one hand, was not very much affected by Helga's change (unless he was comforting Phoebe), whilst Arnold and Brainy were another story.  
  
The two blamed eachother, and themselves for what happened. Whenever one crossed the other's path, there would be such a cold silence and hot glares exchanged, it grew awkward for anyone else in the two's presence.  
  
  
Like now.  
  
  
Arnold glared at Brainy, who glared back menacingly, and let his lips slip into a hateful sneer. The truth had been revealed just only days ago, creating a hard tension between the two boys. Brainy had just blurted out that he loved her right when Arnold had started questioning Brainy, why he was there first, why he was caring so much for Helga! Helga of all people!   
  
So, Brainy loved Helga...but the problem was, so did Arnold. Brainy couldn't believe this man that ignored Helga for so long could suddenly love such a beautiful and deep creature such as Helga G. Pataki. He didn't deserve such splendor, such a Heavensent gift that was crumbled and tossed aside like trash, could suddenly be appreciated just like that.   
  
Then again, Arnold always did have a special spot for Helga in his heart, ever since they met, even though he was too dense to realize it at the time. Brainy choose to ignore this piece of information, and gave one of the evilest glares he could muster and sent it flying to Arnold.  
  
Arnold, on the other hand, couldn't believe that wheezing Brainy, who everyone thought wasn't even around anymore, loved Helga. How could this be?  
  
How did this even happen?  
  
How could this happen?  
  
Sure, Arnold could understand a slight crush, maybe even a little something more, but actual true love? Brainy LOVED Helga?  
  
Noticing that Brainy's glares got harder and more cold, Arnold struggled to keep up. He wasn't used to this hating thing; but his inner voice, the one that couldn't shut up just a week ago, urged him to fight for Helga, to try to win her over, to make her his. He had to fight.  
  
  
_Well, you'd better.._ the voice popped back into action.  
  
'Not you again..' Arnold thought tiredly, looking away from Brainy.  
  
_Yes, me. Got a problem with it?_  
  
'Yes..you're annoying.'  
  
_I love you too.  
_  
Arnold mentally snorted at his subconscious's sarcasm, and attempted to shut out his subconscious, but alas, no avail for the footballheaded man.  
  
_So..have you figured it out yet?_  
  
'Figured out what?'  
  
_Why Helga did all this. It's not because of you only, even if you ARE a pretty neat guy. There is more to this puzzle._  
  
'Oh, and I suppose you know?'  
_  
Maybe...I AM your subconscious. We tend to know the answers first._  
  
'Another reason why your bugging me off. Just tell me.'  
  
_Hmm... let me think about that... umm.. NO! _  
  
'...You are so unfair.'  
  
_Like I really give a damn. Fit the clues together. What do you know?_  
  
'I know that Helga had problems at home.. but just gossip I heard from Lila. I'm not even sure what I heard is true. Phoebe doesn't know that much even though there "best friends," and I don't even think Brainy has the faintest clue about her.'  
  
_You'd be surprised.. _came the sardonic reply.  
  
'What?' Arnold became alarmed. 'Are you saying that Brainy might actually know something?!'  
  
_...maybe.. _came the sly reply.  
  
Arnold sighed heavily. That was as much an answer he would get out of his subconcious..for now.  
  
'So should I ask him?'  
  
_Uh, no, just sit there, wondering on the existence of life and why poop stinks! Well, no dir, Footballhead! Of course ask him!_  
  
'Geez, you didn't have to be so Helga-like..'  
_  
...did I now?.. _Came the smiling reply, before Arnold felt his subconscious 'voice' fade. Arnold sighed again heavily. He was going insane, just by talking back to the 'voice', but for now all he could do was wait. And while he was waiting, he would try to pass the time by reviewing the whole situation, and trying to block his mind from further mental attacks from his supposed subconscious 'voice'.   
  
  
Meanwhile, Brainy watched curiously as Arnold's face twisted into a vary of emotions: despair, annoyance, anger, sadness, despair yet again, and a rather surprised and shocked face, then relax into a dreamy one. He seemed deep in thought and waged a war in himself mentally.  
  
Brainy knew that feeling all too well. Though he resented Arnold for having Helga's heart first, he couldn't help but feel fellow sympathy. There they were, two men, coming straight from school, competing with eachother in classes for Helga, trying to prove one was better and more well-suited for Helga than the other.  
  
It was simply ridiculous. More like brawling boys fighting over a stupid candy bar.  
  
But the whole thing _was_ taking its' toll on both boys. Both had dark circles under their eyes, skin starting to dull, and seemed more anxious. Nothing could satisfy them but Helga.   
  
The teenaged old P.S. 118 class ignored this. They wanted to forget about Helga. About everything. What she made them feel. What emotions she had risen in them. But that didn't stop them from talking.  
  
A pair of green eyes watched the class quietly, observing.  
  
Lila looked at first worriedly at Arnold, as he stared out the window, watching the stormy white clouds. The rain hadn't cleared up since that day. Arnold had barely spoken an entire sentence to her. She knew what was happening.   
  
  
She didn't bother to stop it.  
  
  
Moving her gaze elsewhere, Lila's eyes stopped at Rhonda. Instantly, she felt pity rise up inside of her.  
  
  
The raven-haired girl, called "The Fashion Bitch Of The Campus", was one of those who were effected the worse. She was supposed to be the one who didn't care, didn't give a damn about _anyone_, but ever since Helga's suicide attempt, the girl had become divided.   
  
Emotions, buried after so long and new to her, had resurfaced and made themselves known. Now Rhonda spent each day, plastering a fake smile on her face, reassuring both everyone and herself that everything was all right, even though inside, everyday afterschool, she would wage the war with herself and her feelings.   
  
  
Again moving her eyesight somewhere else, she stopped at Harold. No one paid much mind to the boy these days, even though he lost some weight and seemed a bit slimmer than usual, always with a solemn face. Harold diligently started at his work, never paying much mind to no one else, even though his thoughts wandered elsewhere.  
  
  
Lila knew where. To her, everyone's mind was on Helga. Even Lila never expected for Helga to go to the ultimate choice: suicide.  
  
  
Lila looked down at her workpaper, instantly ashamed. She shouldn't have said yes to Arnold, and shouldn't have even made any moves toward him. The auburn haired girl knew that Helga had her eyes on him, but since Helga wasn't making any moves yet (and hadn't for the past several years), and Arnold did care about Lila a lot, she figured, "Hey, why not go for it?"  
  
  
But now it turned into something uglier.   
  
  
Arnold never gave her the time of day, and even though it wasn't really intentional, Lila knew he hated her too on some subconscious level.  
  
  
Everyone hated her.  
  
  
Sure they never voiced it outloud, but she could feel everyone's eyes on her lately as she walked, sat, did her work, talked, always those eyes seemed to be accusing her for betraying Helga like that. Whenever someone spoke to her, she looked into their eyes and saw barely masked contempt. Surely it wasn't just her imagination.  
  
Why did they care so much about Helga G. Pataki? Had she really that much of an impact on people's lives? Wasn't she just a mere bully to them? Lila once thought exasperated and frustrated late at night, then quieted her thoughts, again ashamed.  
  
She knew she shouldn't think thoughts like that, but she couldn't help but feel jealous of Helga. The girl was beautiful, strong (both in will and physical strength), and intelligent, and very charming and coy when she wanted to be. Many boys (not to forget to mention some girls) in highschool had their eyes on her, and at one time Arnold, even as he still pursued Lila.  
  
Lila felt insanely jealous at that fact. Whenever she looked at herself in a mirror, she still saw that lanky girl that came from a broken down farm with nothing but the cloths on her back and a few meager possessions of what her life used to be.  
  
Helga seemed to have it all, but she didn't know it. Lila would have given anything to have anyone's love, anyone's appreciation, for her real spirit. But she didn't really have a spirit now did she?   
  
Lila in the beginning, when she moved to the city, had focused on one goal and one goal only: To be Perfect in the eyes of everyone. No one would see the girl that shed her tears at night, missing the way life used to be and knowing why her father sometimes even couldn't afford to eat dinner at times, or the girl that had her hopes crushed and twisted. No one would see that.  
  
They'd only see a wind-up doll, perfect in every way, no flaws, no mistakes, always unmarred in every little detail. Lila was a doll. A plastic doll that forever said, "Ever so thank you," and "Oh so please," even when she was thrown down to the ground harshly, and stomped on repeatedly.  
  
Lila was the girl who read poetry, yet couldn't feel the soul of the words brush through her.  
  
Lila was the girl to be envied, yet envied others.  
  
Lila was the one with a facade up around her, refusing anyone to get inside, like Helga, only she covered up her hurt with positiveness, cheerfulness, and a farce happiness.  
  
Lila wasn't who everyone thought she was. She didn't really like being fashionable (simple clothes would do for her) but she had to be for the sake of everyone loving her. She really was the doll to be dressed up, to be played with, to be thrown away anytime someone was tired of her little voice. She could be broken, and that was why she didn't let anyone in; she had no closest friends, she had no real boyfriend, she had nothing.  
  
And worst of all, she knew it.  
  
Lila sighed down at her paper again and finished the problem, so she could drown herself in her thoughts again, to contemplate why she even did this anymore.  
  
Why she still was that same wind-up doll, she would never figure out until later on. Later on would she really know.  
  
**  
  
  
  
  
-Harold-  
**  
  
Everyone's become quiet lately. People still treat me the same. As if I'm stupid and slow to everything around me; including Helga's sui-... I can't bring myself to say it.  
  
Everyone just naturally _assumes_ I'm this twenty year old man still stuck in Junior part of highschool, that I haven't learned anything new or anything that would help me become someone better.  
  
I have.  
  
Just no one really notices. But Helga, Arnold and Phoebe did, as well as some others (though most seem to forget at times like these, because I'm so big); or at least I _suspect_ Helga did.   
  
You know, three years ago, I wouldn't have even _dreamed_ that I would really be able to even pass a class or use great grammar or even have hopes to going to a college, besides community. I could always go to a community and get two years of college. But then. I'm left behind everyone else. Everyone believed that Harold "A.K.A. Monster of The Field" (I played football, and rather well I might add) couldn't do anything but stomp, steal people's lunch money and lunch (yes, I still do that, much to Arnold's disappointment), and growl ferally at anyone who would come within two inches of my space.  
  
Helga and Phoebe didn't. Well, actually Phoebe didn't; but during the time I was tutored by her, I did get to know Helga a little better, every time she came by. We'd sort of talk every break I got from work and tutoring, whether the topics be wrestling today or which teacher was more stupid than the other.  
  
It turns out that she wasn't the bully, or as I like to call her still, "Madam Fortress Mommy," everyone thought out to be: sort of like me.  
  
We were both thought of as something we really weren't, and that gave me a sort of connection with her. Like a bond that just popped out of nowhere, and we became friends. As she matured on, (yes I can say such words like "mature" and "connection" and all those "hard words" that everyone thinks I can't say)  
  
Though I never really realized how depressed she was around three weeks ago. It was always an "I'm fine," or "Nothing's wrong, now leave me the hell alone," and everyone took it as an answer and just backed off.. No one knew that she was on the border, ready to fall and never come back. How she was dancing on the razor's edge, and was going to die, never to talk and playfully punch me and call me "Pink boy" still.  
  
  
And that scared me.  
  
  
It scared me the first time I opened the letter and read the first sentence, "I'm attempting suicide, Harold," in Helga's handwriting. It scared me that I would lose one of the few friends that had that special connection with me; that would really understand me. It scared me so much, that I cried that night after I called the police.  
  
I was even scared to see her again; to confront after she did such a harmful deed to herself. By a fucking gun too.  
  
Where the hell did she even get that gun?! Did some bozo sell it to her off the street, because I swear, when I get my hands on them, I will kill them for even doing what they did.  
  
I begin to doodle little stick figures on my paper. Why did this even have to fucking happen?   
  
I guess it was true what that guidance counselor said when he gave a speech on suicide and how to recognize symptoms last year at the assembly that everyone in school attended. That sometimes it came in the most unexpected person.  
  
Happy, sad, those with a smile always on their faces, those with perfect grades, those with friends everywhere. It can happen to them, and no one would ever know it. Even if they showed signs or not.  
  
I guess it's true.  
  
  
  
Suicide _does_ happen to the ones you least expect.  
  
  
And it does hit you hard when someone you cared for, commits it.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**  
-Start Dream-**  


  
  
**  
  
  
  
  
  
The wind blew solemnly against the barren trees; branches tangled in the air and sky, swayed gently with the breeze. The brown-grass, turning into a mix between jellybean green and a golden-almond color, yet the majority was still grey and a dark brown, moved with a light grace.  
  
  
Lightening was gone, but thunder remained. The crows had taken residence on the white picket fence, dirtied and littered with black ashen weeds. The birds picked at them, cawing loudly, occasionally moving side to side to pester one another.  
  
  
  
  
Inside was silence.  
  
  
  
  
The air was still perfumed with the foul stench of rotting corpses. It had yet to be cleaned up. The blood shed that day had dried and caked on the floors, mixing with the unholy smell of the dead.   
  
  
The Older Self of Helga still hung from the kitchen ceiling, every now and then gently swinging, limp in the rope's grasp around her throat. Her eyes seemed to cry out "Help" but they were dead and empty, like her life. Faint buzzing of flies surrounded her like a halo, picking at one of her eyes.  
  
  
The small five-year old decayed, and had flies burrowing into her skin, laying eggs and having fresh maggots chew through the stiff skin, enjoying the meal thoroughly. The young toddler's lips of the purple face that lacked air seemed to be in a halfway position of crying, "No! No! Stop!" and the in one half-shut eye was a tear unescaped. Trapped in it's internal prison; forever to be unexpressed of the child's pain.  
  
  
The nine-year old Helga still was in the hallway, the pool of blood became syrupy and clingy to anyone who would come across it, her golden hair that once hung in proud pigtails became a dull, and dirty tone of blonde, filled with grease and lifeblood. Here were more maggots, making tunnels in and out of her skin, wiggling around without a care in the world.  
  
  
Upstairs, in the attic, where wide windows were used to survey the landscape, a small figure of a blond woman was vaguely seen in the dark corner. She looked at where her look-alike laid, face-first to the floor, not moving at all.  
  
  
At first it seemed as if the person was dead, but the blond woman was still breathing, kissing the hardwood floor coldly with hardly any life in her lips, unconscious and oblivious to the world around her. Red blood had become her liquid death bed.   
  
  
Helga watched nervously at her look-alike. She could remember how everything went, but it all seemed so fast, as if she, herself, actually didn't do it.  
  
  
All she could bring herself to really reminicist was how she took the gun and the control of her dreams...  
  
  
**  


-Flashback-  


_  
  
  
"RAAAAH!" Helga's look-alike part growled, part screamed as she pounced like a tiger unto a grazing gazelle. Helga struggled beneath her twin, trying to escape, but no avail.  
  
"Time to die, sweetie pie." Her twin whispered, cocking the gun and pointing it at her. Helga felt something instinctual, something primal, something inside of her snap at once and with all the swiftness she could muster, grabbed the revolver and wrenched it out of her look-alike's grasp.  
  
Everything went so fast. Helga could remember pushing her look-alike off, who was still in shock, but still wrestled like a mad person as she grasped Helga's calves and punched through Helga's gut.  
  
Wincing and involuntarily letting the gun slide across the hardwood floor, she groped for it. Her look-alike tried to get there first, but Helga returned the favor of her twin punching her with a kick of her own, sending her clone prone to the ground. Taking advantage of this, she crawled quickly and nearly grabbed the gun, if her look-alike hadn't grabbed her roughly by the ankle and dragged down her back.  
  
"Oh, no you don't.." The look-alike growled madly, and pushed Helga down.   
  
"NO!"  
  
The bitter, yet truimphant sound of her look-alike's laughter as the gun was nearly in her grasp when a sharp kick came to her side. She wheezed. Helga crawled on top of her and grabbed the gun, then fell to the ground with a dull thud.  
  
"Give it to me, little ungrateful bitch." Her look-alike sneered at her as she wrestled on top of her. Helga struggled, defiant and strangely brave.   
  
"In your face, demon." With that sentence, she spat into her twin's face.  
  
"You..little..BITCH!"   
  
"Look who's talking." Was the last words that Helga said, as the blur called "fighting" continued. Helga strained to keep the gun out of reach, even as her twin's hand was dangerously close to it, and already past her wrist; both fighting for the revolver.  
  
Finally in one moment, her twin grabbed the gun and brought it down at Helga. Helga didn't think, didn't breath, didn't even blink, as she grabbed the gun back and pulled the trigger on her.  
  
Time seemed to slow down into fragments of space, as Helga watched as the bullet slashed into the surprised twin and the force of the revolver, forced her back, watching the whole scene.  
  
With a brutal thud to the ground, blood spurted out from the heart of her look-alike. Helga withdrew and pressed herself against the wall, bringing her knees to her chest, and watched horrified as her twin began to die by blood loss.  
  
_

  
-End Flashback-  


  
**  
Helga stared as the breaths from her twin became uneven and shallow, yet stayed where she was, afraid to proceed with her deed and become mercificial to the insane creature, claiming to be her better half.  
  
Her look-alike rolled over with all of her strength, so that her blue eyes met Helga's, lips, bitter with the blood she had rubbed on. She tried straining her throat, and moving her lips. At first no sound came out.  
  
"..I.I. w-want to.." Blood heaved out of her mouth. Helga couldn't look away.  
  
Helga tried to scream, "Don't talk! Don't speak! Don't do a damn thing!" but the words stuck, constricted in her paralyzed vocal cords. Her twin continued to speak.  
  
"..Th..thank..you.. for." Not finishing her last words, she, with her final breath, laid down, body twitching for a second. Then she became still, eyes still staring out before her, empty as the Older Helga's had been. No swirling emotion that had mirrored Helga's in almost every way; just a void. A lifeless stare.  
  
Helga, on all fours, trembled as she neared her, still from shock and still from sadness and not to mention the sickness of killing a person. Slowly and gently, she lowered the girl's eyelids down, as it was the only thing she could think of to end the not-yet-woman-yet-not-girl's untimely end.  
  
As if on cue at that moment, when the girl's eyes were sufficiently covered, Helga felt white light envelope her. And then she knew, her nightmares would be no more. That there would be no grey and monotone to welcome her when she closed her eyes again for slumber. That there would be hope and life next time she looked. That maybe something actually went right in her dream, when she had killed the Damned Helga and came out better, newer, wiser, with a chance to start over.  
  
  
She knew that next time she would wake up, she would only dream of blue skies and green grass again.  
  
  
  
**  
  


**-End Dream-**  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Helga blinked her eyes open, unfocused. The dulled and faintly humming song of the fluorescent lights above her sang with mechanical glee, with the yellowed-white light descending down on her frazzled hair. Setting her unfocused eyes around the hazed room of colors and unidentifiable shapes, Helga gave a confused grunt.  
  
"..hello..?"  
  
"Helga?!" Came a surprised, shocked, and familiar voice she hadn't heard in weeks, yet couldn't believe was here.  
  
She set her eyes above her to the owner of the voice, and shielded her eyes against the light. Damn that hurt.  
  
"What the fuck happened?" She heard the man, or at least she assumed it was a man, calm down his breathing and his shock beginning to wear down.  
  
"Comatose, sleeping beauty. You were asleep for nearly over a week now." The voice continued carefully, trying to keep emotion out of them, yet failing miserably, as she caught a hint of worry in them. Helga followed the person to the chair by her bed with her eyes, and blinked slowly.  
  
  
"..Bob..? What the hell are you doing here?"  
  
  
  
  
  
**  
TBC..**  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Yes, yes, I know I am evil to stop there. ^_~ Aiya, it took soooooooo long for this update, but I personally loved everyone's reviews, and tried really hard not to make this chapter suck like all the others.  
  
  
  
Also, No more polling for Arnold And Brainy *everyone goes 'awww'* Yes, you heard me. I made my decision, but the thing is, I'm not telling who's gonna be it in the end! ^____^ You're all gonna have to wait. *people boo* Mwahahaahaha. *winks* Sorrrrrrrry.  
  
  
**Here's a note for Lila haters:** I will not tolerate any flames saying that Lila is either a bitch, a prissy whore, or anything else foul. It does not meant that I love her (in fact I think she's sort of annoying) but if Ditey's "Cupid Had a Day Off" (yet another plug ^_~ read it people!) has taught me anything, was that maybe Lila isn't so fortunate, and maybe she's a doll like Olga (Helga's older sister) to make people like her, and always forcing her true side down.  
  
  
So if you want to say that Lila is a bitch, whore, slut, whatever, do it in your own fanfics and not in the reviews/emails. I do not soil character's personalities for the sake of a few reviewer's opinions. I'm sorry, but that's just the way I think.  
  
  
  
  
Please **review**, 'cause it makes us** insecure and emotionally unstable** authors think that people actually care. ^_~ And hey, who knows, maybe YOU'LL win a $$$ **MILLION **dollars $$$ if you **press the magic button and fill out the form**! Try it out!  
  
Email: **Phoenix67851@aol.com** (no flames, thank ya very much. ^_~ Comments, pleas, and questions are welcomed.)  
  
-Bunni 


	12. The Patakis

Rating: PG-13 for language....er..that's about it. ^_^;;  
  
  
Disclaimer: Okay, quit looking at this. You aren't going to win a million dollars if you do. It's a lie, people, a lie! ^_~ Trust me, I tried it. I don't own the cartoon.. if I did, I'd make a whacky episode with Arnold's parents, change Arnold's mom's name, and find out Arnold's last name is!  
  
  
Fanfic Summary: Helga snaps after she sees various things in her life go wrong, grades, family, friends, and her love. She see's the only way out after one night. Will someone save her before it was too late?  
  
  
Chapter Summary: Confrontations and talks. Between the family that is. Judging by the title above, you know what's going down. Helga and Bob have the daughter to dad talk that Bob put off for so long. In three-hyponated words: Daddy-daughter-love.  
  
  
Shout out: To those that BOTHERED to review. J/K! I'm just pulling your legs people. Humble as ever, I will await until the end of the fanfic to blow up at the lazy people who did not review. ^_~ I look forward to that day. *evil grin*  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
Dreams of Blue Skies  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter Eleven  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Why else would I be here?" Bob growled as he leaned back in his chair. Helga snorted and peeking from one eye, she took in her father's shaggy looks.  
  
  
"Didn't shower, eh? Least you could have done was smell nice. You're stinking up the entire place." Not that she minded. It gave an alternative to the smell of medicine and sterilizers that plagued the room like a second skin. But she wasn't going to let Bob off that easy. She wanted to vent her anger out on someone, dammit. All the frustration was bearing down on her. Not dying, everyone knowing, going to be watched endlessly. It was not going to be a happy experience for this Pataki girl.  
  
  
"Shut up, girl. Be happy I'm here to begin with."  
  
  
"Oh so you can save your oh-so-precious Beeper Empire, Big Bob?" Came her sarcastic, bitter retort.  
  
  
Bob glared. "You know, your being ungrateful."  
  
  
"And why shouldn't I be? After all you ignored me for over 3/4 of my life. Correction not 3/4, just the every single goddamn minute not counting those two seconds every year at my birthday!"  
  
  
"I had a good excuse!"   
  
  
"Oh, and what pray tell is that, Big Bob?"  
  
  
"..." No answer came. "I.. well there was.. work.. and...the cat..."  
  
  
"Ha! Not good enough, BOB. We don't even have a cat." She put a sneer at his name for emphasis, "..so now you expect us to be buddy-buddy? Is that it, Bob? To look good in front of your precious customers, ready at a moment to use this as a shallow promotion? Your poor daughter that attempted suicide and you tying loose ties while looking sparkling clean while you do it?"  
  
  
"Hey, hey, hey young lady, you better watch that tone you use with me or-"  
  
  
"Or what?..." Helga talked back. "It's true.You've used every other 'family moment' as a shameless promotion. That time at the spelling bee when I was nine, that other time at the poetry contest when I was eleven.. you even had to be forced to spend time with me by Miriam..."  
  
  
"....You're right, Helga." The quiet and surprisingly sad voice of her father made her open both eyes and look at him. He had never said her name correctly before. "You're right. I'm sorry.. I never meant for it to turn out like this.. I.. I'm so fucking sorry.."   
  
  
The room had been unspeakably quiet. Helga couldn't tear her eyes away from her father's huddled over form. Questions flew through her mind. What? Why? How? What?! But.. no.. everything was going so fast, nothing could really register. This was rare. Big Bob admitting he was wrong, not putting up a fight. Just laying it down that he was at fault. Helga had no clue whether or not her jaw was at the floor.  
  
  
"..why...how?.."  
  
  
"..." Bob looked uncomfortable. He always was when it came to feelings. "I..I.. your my daughter, Helga. I do care.. I may not show it all those times, and I may have screwed up most of your life and whatever father/daughter relationship we would have had, but I do care.." He avoided her eyes. It was bad enough to he had brought himself to admit it, but to her, he felt like he told the City Gossiper his most-guarded secret and grinning while he did so.  
  
  
Helga blinked. Was he telling the truth? It wasn't like Bob to play cruel tricks and lie.. in fact, she gave it more thought as she thought back. He did show he did care in small ways in her childhood. Saving Mighty Pete and herself (well he was actually more concerned about her), getting those tickets to Rats (even though she had wanted to go to Wrestlemania.. it was the thought that counts anyway), even driving her (albeit grumbling while he did so) to her Junior Prom with her (though she somehow missed the part where he had threatened her date to bring her back by curfew or die a cruel black death. Her date never called her at home as an after effect of that.) He did care in some ways..   
  
  
Then she looked at Bob, still fidgeting around, not looking in her eyes._ It must've be hard to admit that.. like I would admit to Arnold that I love him.._ that thought caught her. Did she still love him? And what were these new feelings she was feeling for Brainy? She brushed that thought away. Helga would deal with that later.  
  
  
"..I.." Helga stumbled around words as she came across another question. Could she care fro her father after all these years of neglect? Bob looked at her with that hallow look that said he wasn't expecting anything, like a child asking for a bed time story and a hug then left alone in the dark, waiting for things that would never come.   
  
  
That hurt her more. Like he wasn't expecting her to care for him right back. Did she love him? Did she care for the man that missed almost all of her school plays except one? Did she care for the man that didn't say he loved her or hold her when she was a child, too preoccupied with his older daughter Olga? Did she love the man that didn't remember her name more times than a calculator could count? Did she?!  
  
  
"I.. can't say I love you Bob.." Noticing his crestfallen look then become hard as he tried to mask his emotions, she hurried on with her speech. "But I can say.. there's hope.. It's along-a-ways, but there is hope." She gave a half smile.  
  
  
Her father gave the same half-smile, and his expression looked cold, but when you look into his eyes, as blue as Helga's, and stare long enough, you could see hope. It shone as clear as day, and as true as night.  
  
  
There was hope, in the horizon, for this broken family. First it would have to start with the broken ties between a father and a daughter, then it would solidify with the other two, her mother and sister. It would be hard, but the family could make it. Together, only they could heal, but divided they would become ill and broken, worse off then before. Forever gone.  
  
  
"..so..what do we do now?" The comfortable silence was disrupted by Helga's question.  
  
  
No words were exchanged. He continued to smile at her and unexpectantly leaned over and gripped Helga awkwardly in his embrace. Almost immediately, she stiffened, not used to hugs, but after two moments she embraced back and he let go.  
  
  
"..Phew you stink.." She smirked and held her nose, wagging her hand as an emphasis.  
  
  
Bob growled. "And this is the thanks I get?" It was obvious he was not used to hugs either. The two were so alike, yet different. Both laid down in their respective furniture, and Helga then gave a grin.   
  
  
"Yes."  
  
  
"Well that sure brings my spirits up a notch." Bob grumbled. Helga continued to grin. It seemed oblivious to the both that they had the same kind of humor as well.  
  
  
"Quiet, Bob and enjoy it. We're bonding whether you like it or not. And I think you like it."  
  
  
Bob snorted. "Right. Me stuck with the girl." But Helga caught the rare look of happiness shining in his eyes. Apparently this had been what he had wanted as well. Pataki's were never mushy. "The name's Helga, Bob."  
  
  
"And the name is Dad, Helga."  
  
  
Both were at a stalemate. "Okay, _Dad_. But I'm curious..what do you mean 'out for a week'? What the hell happened? What day is it?"  
  
  
  
"You went into a coma. Those quacks called doctors said some damn trauma must have sprung in your head..."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**_  
****_**  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Miriam peeked in at the father and daughter moment and sighed relieved. She hadn't know how many times she had badgered them into spending 'quantity time' together. It had taken a suicide, and a story of a gun to rip the barriers between daughter and father to at least look at each other straight.  
  
  
But Miriam didn't know that. At least the part with the gun and how it came to be a part of the Pataki household.  
  
  
"Mrs. Pataki?" Miriam spun on her heel, now sober after a week. It had been tough to give up the alcohol, but she did it. For her family. She faced the ninety-year old African-American doctor.  
  
  
"Yes?"  
  
  
"I take it Miss Pataki is awake?"  
  
  
"You take it correctly."  
  
  
"Very well. Very good recovery. The bullet wound must have created more brain trauma then we originally thought. It must have not taken full trigger until something disturbing-"  
  
  
"Disturbing? Like what?" Miriam whispered, looking worried.  
  
  
"Could range as far as a memory, a bad recollection, or even a nightmare. You know how the dream world treats us mortals." The doctor chuckled. Miriam let out a breath of air.  
  
  
"Oh. Will this happen again?"  
  
  
"No, no. Her wounds are close to healed. We were able to get out the bullet, as you know, from surgery while she was in a coma, last week. Risky business, that surgery, but thank God it worked. Still, the matters of our gray matter are unknown. If something does happen while she's asleep, like say, have seizure-like symptoms, you'd better bring her here."  
  
  
Miriam mentally snorted. _Duh..._ Then she caught herself. Days without the smoothie were rough on her. "Anything else?"  
  
  
"Well, what's probably the most obvious is to keep sharp objects, guns, and anything potentially harmful away from her. Ban knives from kitchens, bar windows, keep her under watch. Next time she attempts some stunt like she did before, take her to the Psychiatric Ward. They'll know what to do with her." The doctor had a meaningful look on his face and before he turned away, he put a hand on Miriam's shoulder. His expression was sympathetic.  
  
  
"I hope all goes well with your daughter, Mrs. Pataki."  
  
  
Miriam smiled. The doctor might have been annoying but he had a good heart. "Thank you, Dr. Steiglitz. Happy retirement."  
  
  
Dr. Steiglitz waved a little and smiled. "I'd keep doing it if it weren't for these old bones creaking and crying everytime I moved." The African-American old man with wrinkles sagging all around him walked slowly away, slightly moaning as old men often do at that age. Miriam smiled subconsciously before turning her thoughts to Helga.  
  
  
Her little daughter. She gave a small smile. _How the years passed so easily.._ she still remembered, though vaguely, when Helga was just a little girl. She gave out a small sigh, and thought again, _How the years passed so easily.._ and too quickly for her taste.  
  
  
How on Earth could she make it all up? Would Helga accept her as her mother? Was she even a mother? Even after she gave up smoothies? Would Helga even acknowledge her? The most important question of all: Could she do anything?  
  
  
"How should I know?" Miriam yelled irritably to the ceiling, causing stares from surrounding medical staff. Miriam glared at them. "What are you staring at?!" All of the unwelcome audience wisely crept away.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Olga looked up at the ceiling. Normally she would lament to depressing music, but it seemed to inappropriate. I mean, who was she really mourning for? Her, or for her little sister?  
  
  
The answer seemed so obvious to her then she thought about it. The more she fancied the idea, the more it made sense.   
  
  
She had always done it for herself. She loved the attention from her parents whenever she got great grades. Overshadowing her little sister made her feel sadistically complete; as if this were the only way she could get her kicks.  
  
  
Then Olga realized she was a hypocrite. She always said she loved and cared for Helga, but what had she really done to make that known? Helga had always shown spite, jealousy, and malice to Olga's 'advances'. Thus, Olga tried harder.  
  
  
Push harder, cry harder, press harder, making Helga shut her out quicker, shut her out more, shut her out forever. Everyone out.  
  
  
Olga came to an epiphany of her mind.   
  
  
Maybe ... maybe Helga had thought this was the only way. She squinted her gray matter to go back into yesteryears. Had anyone ever been a proper rolemodel for Helga? She always thought she was, but then again one can never be sure.   
  
There was that small amount of progress of 'bonding' when Helga was in the fourth grade, but had it really been there? Her father ignored Helga, that she came to realize with shock.   
  
  
She hadn't noticed.   
  
  
Hadn't noticed for almost ten years.   
  
  
That's what really shook her. Had anyone else did? Olga didn't cry, but stared hard at the ceiling, tracing patterns with her eyes. Had anyone known?.. did Helga ever get hugged, kissed, and told stories like Olga was when she was a child?  
  
_No._., Olga felt one tear run down her cheek and she blinked. Was she crying? Yes, yes she was. For the loss of Helga never knowing parental love.   
  
  
It came to Olga that why Helga did it was no utter surprise or mystery anymore.   
  
It was no wonder she attempted suicide.  
  
It was a wonder why she hadn't done it sooner.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
TBC...  
  
  
Okay, short, yes. But I'm kind of feeling exhausted. Sorry for delaying the posting so soon. I had writer's block and couldn't think of what to write for this chapter without it sounding totally sappy. Then it hit me one day at PE, like a baseball bat. *rubs sore bump* Make it realistic, dramatic, but not sappy. Do a family one. ^____^ Family's important and I decided, hey, it's not the length of the chapter that matters. It's the quantity. Hope you all like.  
  
Later,  
  
-Bunni 


	13. Queens

Disclaimer: I. Don't. Own. Hey. Arnold!..okay? I'm just an insecure girl with rabbit ears. Deal with it! I have! XD  
  
Fanfic Summary: Helga snaps after she sees various things in her life go wrong, grades, family, friends, and her love. She see's the only way out after one night. Will someone save her before it was too late?  
  
Chapter Summary: Another interlude..this time between everyone and everyone else. Lol, did that make sense? Didn't think so.   
  
  
Shout out:...... Do I really have to do this when no one reviews? XD I didn't think so. I'm sort of in a bitchy mood. You don't want to talk to me. Really. You don't. I'm not in the mood to play Miss Sociable, so there. ^_^  
  
TOP NEWS: Avon flamed me back! ^_^ Here is his flame by email:  
  
  
I am horrified at the immense response my 'underserved' flame recieved. This proves that the ignorant masses will move to protect the foulest of things if provoked. You have deluded yourself into thinking your writing is worth protecting. You took what I said to heart. You are stupid, but at least you had the sense to listen to me, however temporarily. I'm sure your fanbase was horrified, the simple fools. Maybe you should take some more advice from me and work on the sensitivity issues you seem to harboring. Good luck with that one kid.  
  
-Avon Belac  
  
My reply was two emails: *nods*  
  
Okay, you've said what you said. So....I'm actually supposed to care about you?  
  
-Bunni   
  
was my first one and then I added a p.s. in a second email.  
  
p.s.  
  
Your flame made me laugh. Thanks.^_____^ I needed some cheering up and you sure did the trick. That helped alot.  
  
-Bunni  
  
  
Now, if I was still the sensitive girl I was four chapters ago, I would have cried and flamed him back with the tongue of Satan. But I've grown and matured. Sure, the comment stings me, but I have to breathe and let it out. After all, I'm not the one that sounds ::l a m e:: Avon. ^_~  
  
  
  
  
  
Dreams of Blue Skies  
  
Chapter Twelve  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Rhonda flipped through clothes and then growled. She turned away, disgusted with the newest fashions of Paris. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she stop thinking about that freak?  
  
  
She grabbed a brush and combed violently through her raven locks. Her reflection stared back at her, allowing her to see the anger in the brown eyes. "WHY? WHY THE FUCK DID YOU DO IT, HELGA?" She threw the hairbrush to the mirror, creating spider cracks. She shook her head slowly as she slid down to the floor, touching the shards. "Why..?"  
  
A minute passed, an hour, an afternoon, she didn't have a clue which. It didn't really matter either. The shards of glass reflected the light making rainbows against the wall. Rhonda smiled gently. "Why give me that letter?" It was something she couldn't figure out. Phoebe, yeah, she could understand the letter being given to Phoebe. Harold, sure, he was hanging around Phoebe and Helga a lot before.. Rhonda closed her eyes to prevent tears. She shook with silent laughter. Her! Of all people, her getting the letter! It was hilarious.  
  
Or at least it sounded hilarious to her. Rhonda dug her slippers into the carpet, taking her feet out and feeling them against the glass. She wondered... as the glass gently poked her flesh, not yet near the cutting point, if it was a relief to cut yourself? Helga did it.. She had seen the small scratches in PE.  
  
Why hadn't anyone said anything? She dug her feet a little deeper, feeling stings of pain as the points of the shards beginning to go into her soft skin. If not the kids, why not the teachers? Why not her parents? Hell, a bum even.  
  
She's out of the hospital, Rhonda thought, she's out of that place. She never liked the hospital. Rhonda's head cradled in her arms as she stared at the carpet, her knees going down as her feet dug into the glass studded carpet. They were afraid. It came to her. They were afraid of being the one to say, "Hey, Pataki's cutting herself. I think she's suicidal. Can we help her?" She let out a sophisticated laugh. It was cold in a sense, very bitter to hear.  
  
"Ha, like that would ever happen!" She threw her head back and laughed. Tears came down her cheeks but no humor caused them. Sobs came from her throat. "Fucking hell." A strained curse and got up, cutting herself more with the glass but she took no notice of the pain.   
  
"It's all your fault!" She yelled at the ceiling. "It's all your fault." She was about to yell another obscentity but a knock interrupted her.  
  
"Miss Lloyd? Are you alright, Miss?" Her maid asked quietly through the wood. Rhonda's fists shook at her sides.  
  
"Yes, Laura, I'm fine." The tense growl seemed to frighten the maid but she stayed. "Are you sure?" Laura touched the doorknob, beginning to open it but was slammed back when the door was closed.  
  
"Yes, Laura." The lock was switched on. "I'm fine." Rhonda's voice was more quiet. "What did you want?"  
  
"You have a visitor, Miss." Laura quaked mildly with fright, putting her hand to her chest. She never saw the little 'princess' like this before. "Shall I send her away?"  
  
"...who is it?"  
  
"A girl named, oh what was it?" Laura fiddled with her skirts, trying to remember the name, "It was, it was, oh bugger!" Rhonda sighed, rolling her eyes at the old maid's tendency to forget names. "It sounded like..Smolda..Olga..? I think that was it."  
  
"Olga?" Rhonda's eyes widened. "What about Olga? She's here? What did she want?"  
  
"I'm afraid she didn't say, Miss. Should I tell her to leave a message if you're not feeling well?"  
  
"..never mind. I'll see her...Thank you, Laura."  
  
Laura nodded, walking away, every now and then looking over her shoulder. Strange, strange, Laura thought to herself. How peculiar for her to act like that. Almost as if- but Laura shook her head. No, Rhonda would never do that. The old maid with graying hair and squat figure went downstairs to welcome the visitor.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Rhonda put her hand to her forehead, blinking sleepily. She spent the afternoon away moping...and now to face Helga's sister. She laughed to herself. Too much for a regular person. She straightened her figure and smoothed over her shirt, pretending to still care what she looked like. She was a Lloyd, though. All Lloyds had to carry themselves about in a dignified manner. Or else.  
  
She rolled her tongue over her lips then consciously tucked it back in, aware of it. The sweat on her brow increased and she wiped away, scoffing at herself. "Great. I'm like Harold now." A fat, stinky sweaty pig, she thought to herself, sneering. She caught herself and looked at a framed picture. Look at her, she thought. Look at the smiling little girl. The Rhonda that looked back at her was a stylish little nine year old, lips pursed together softly, hands folded together as she looked into the camera with a seemingly careless model pose. The Present Rhonda sighed softly and wanted to touch what seemed like so long ago. But she held back, pulling her hand to her chest and letting it stay there. No time to drink in the past, especially since the past held many memories.  
  
She moved on with a vague frown on her face, the model of aristrocracy and sophistication even without trying. Amazing what practice could do. Her hair slicked back and Rhonda looked to the French villa doors with apprehension instead of the usual glee. What would she say to the woman she admired long ago? What would she say now that Olga came here for different reasons other than just being girls together? She didn't know what she would do. It was a feeling she harbored over her shoulders recently and didn't like it at all. Her throat constricted, the sweat built up more, and her hands -her hands! her perfectly manicured smooth delicacies- were clammy. She didn't know what to say... about it all. It could not be put into words simply, it could not be told as carefree from her lips as she would describe the latest Vogue fashion. Helga was not a shoe, not a dress, not the hotest trend. Helga, up until weeks ago, was just gossip.  
  
The golden swan handles seemed to come alive and honk at her, mocking her for her fear. Fear was another thing she rarely encountered. With her superficial mask and false authority over things, the Bitch was really a coward. But, aha! a coward that was even afraid of facing that she was even afraid. Of course, it was easy to be snide, even she smiled at that thought through the moment. Easy to be mean, easy to be Fashion Police Leader. Easy to be that Clueless girl who had Daddy's credit card and a life planned out for her. But now it was fear that she couldn't escape; it was Fear that stood up to her and made her realize that. She met it a couple of times down the road, petrified and perilized, the Know-it-all left and the little girl stood before the monsters.   
  
She had yet to see what the monster really is. Most of the time, it was lurking under that conscious of hers, while she was worrying about who wore what, who was dating who, and what would she WEAR tomorrow that would revolutionize the school once and for all? It was just waiting, popping out for air and burrowing under her soul, reaching for the core.  
  
Open the door, someone said to her in her ear. Maybe it was her own voice, maybe it was just the silence of that fear whispering, hissing... but she opened it and faced a new reality.  
  
A woman in a dress, pink as it happened to be, with a pink ribbon trailing from her blond hair. She was looking into a cup of coffee, and started when Rhonda came into the room, eyes wide with surprise at the entry. She uncharacteristically looked nervous and smiled apprehensively. "Rhonda," she said, "long time no see."  
  
Rhonda stared at the woman. "..Helga?"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Knight takes Queen. Olga studied the game for a while now, ever since she was thirteen in fact. It was her guilty little pleasure, since it was one thing she wasn't good at. At least not for a while. She grimaced at the mistakes she made, reflecting on the past. Foolish, first timer mistakes. Her partner noticed, frowning.  
  
"Not your usual self today, Olga." The man said, collecting the pieces. Olga snorted unladylike and looked away blushing at her behavior.  
  
"I'm sorry, Robert.." she sighed and rubbed her arm, looking at her pants. It was a strange experience after wearing skirts for so long. She forgot that even a girl could look sexy in slacks. "I'm just thinking."  
  
"You've been thinking a lot lately," he noted, giving a buck-toothed grin. He met Olga a day in the park after she challenged him to a game of chess. Of course, he beat her hide into the ground, but that didn't stop Olga. Well, at least until after she cried, it didn't stop her. "Care to share?"  
  
"No.." she whispered to herself. "I'd rather not." There was a silence and the clinking of more chess pieces being dropped into a box. Robert leaned back and nodded, "Well, when you-"  
  
"It's just that-" he rolled his eyes, putting his palm into his hands, smiling. Worked every time.  
  
Olga scowled, and put her hands in the air, waving them around. "It's just that life is so unfair." Robert blanched.  
  
"What? For you? Never!" Olga stared at him and broke into tears. Robert mentally clunked himself on the head, adopting the name Idiot several thousand times. "I didn't mean it like that, Olga, it's just-"  
  
"Of course not!" she gulped, trying to contain herself, "Of course I have the perfect life that I can't be unhappy with. Of course not! Little Olga with the perfect grades, who went to the best college and played the piano for so long, who has a mile long line of men waiting for her every night. Of course life isn't unfair for me!" she rubbed her palms against her eyes, black trails smudging her milk-white wrists. Robert looked ashamed.  
  
"I'm sorry, Olga..it's just that.." Olga loudly sniffed and gulped another cry. Robert moved closer and almost embraced her, except he realized he didn't know how... and pulled away before he touched her. "It's just.. you do have the perfect life. Or at least..you make it seem that way." He looked away at the solitary queen on the chessboard, abandoned by her men, her bishops, and her king.   
  
"I..I know I do.." Olga held herself. She sighed, letting the tears make onyx rivers down white marble hills. "Maybe that was my mistake. All these years..letting everyone, making everyone, including myself..just..believe it was all infalliable. Nothing could've gone wrong to me; but was it so wrong to want to be so happy and just..forget to see the negativity, Robert?"  
  
He was silent before he gave a loud sigh as a reply. "That's the problem, Olga. No one can be happy. You have to see the negativity to really experience true happiness and value it for what it is instead of enjoying it all the time. There's no such thing and with you...it made.." he wondered if he should say it. Olga looked at him. "It made people..." he suddenly found his plain brown shoes very interesting.   
  
"What?"  
  
"..Resent you. Hate you. You..almost shoved it in their faces, indirectly and directly..that you were happy. All the time. While they were sad, depressed..angry.. you were that constant ray of sunshine they wanted to see go away."  
  
"..oh.." she said shortly, eyes blackened by the sadness. Robert felt awful. "I never hated you, Olga. Don't take it personally..but.." he bit his lip, "they didn't hate YOU. They just..hated the way you always presented yourself."  
  
"But isn't that a petty reason to hate someone?!" she yelled at him, getting up. Robert nodded, "It is..but it still ticked off people, Olga. You have to understand this from their point of view...sit down..you're making me nervous."  
  
"I'M making YOU nervous? I AM?" she screamed, her cheeks, the white marble hills, becoming stained with fresh blood. She felt sudden anger in her. Anger at everything. Her father, her mother, Robert, her so called friends, life, and most importantly herself. Robert looked as if he was being threatened with a gun and held up his hands.  
  
"Shhh, Olga..just..think about it," he quietly said. She was panting, gritting her teeth, feeling a vein that was repressed long ago resurface and pound against her temple. Anger, blood, fear, hate: that drive that she had been made to forget so long ago, coming up with a target pointed at everyone. It was so strange, this new feeling. It almost made her genuinely happy. In fact, Olga realized, the more she yelled at Robert..the better she felt.  
  
"No, you think about it." she growled. Robert saw no choice but to. "I only acted that way because everyone wanted me to. I only dress up and look that way because it's what everyone expects. I am only that way because I see no other option BUT TO. How else am I going to make my parents proud? How else am I going to make everyone proud?"  
  
"But isn't it about you, Olga..?" Robert barely made a sound with that, afraid to talk loud against this suddenly powerful woman. "What about you? What about making yourself happy..yourself proud?"  
  
The anger deflated a little at this and she backed away, the blackness around her eyes overshadowed by the violent upset red. "I do..I do make myself proud," she said unconvincingly, suddenly thinking about it.   
  
"Do you? Do you really?" Robert got up, feeling a little safer now that Olga wasn't towering over him. "Is that why you volunteer more than everyone else? Is that why you're on time for every class and appointment..always seem to be there for everyone? But what about you, Olga?" he finished it off a solitary question, "Were you there for yourself?"  
  
"SHUT UP!" she yelled, stomping her feet to the cement. The rotten leaves rustled under her boots, sliding with some wet sand. "Just..SHUT UP!" she was at an unusual loss for words. Robert looked again at the chessboard, at the solitary Queen.  
  
"You see that single piece right there, Olga?" Olga sniffled to herself, fighting emotions. Mad, sad, mad, sad, happy, not happy. She rubbed her palms against her face, not wanting to look at what this man was pointing at. She thought she could trust him, she thought he was her friend. "Olga.." he said with a firm voice, "look at it. See the answer before you."  
  
She looked, against the promises and wishes she made to herself moments ago that she wouldn't. The White Queen was dangerously exposed, as if she could be. All alone without her people, without her mate. Robert moved cautiously, watching his step as he went closer to the piece. "The Queen can handle herself, even without her army. She is the true strength, not the King. She has a move for every situation, a strategy and exit for every play... she's a modern day woman in other words." He had a smile that said secrets galore, he made a joke that only he could understand. "Funny how back then..the woman had such limited power and now..it's realized just how big an influence she is."   
  
Olga stared at the Queen, listening, being reminded of Helga with every word. "She's strong," Robert continued. "Because she has to be. She has to protect one person and one person only. Somehow...I feel like this Queen is you." Olga looked up sharply, narrowing her eyes at Robert.   
  
"No..it's not me.. I'm not strong as I should be." She added in her head, Helga is. All Olga was was the whiny crybaby. Robert shook his head.  
  
"But you are. You're just a little disorganized in the game." He picked up the White Queen and walked slowly to Olga. He smiled softly and put it in her hand, folding her fingers over it. "Listen...it's not about pleasing everybody, since you can't do that any way. It's a proven fact - humans are fickle. One minute they love you, the next- bah! they could do without you." Olga couldn't help but let more tears fall.  
  
"But I feel so.." Guilty. She clutched the Queen loosely, feeling like she was more the treacherous jealous sister that wanted the Queen's head chopped off so she could marry the Prince and live happily ever after. Robert shook his head again. "You are the White Queen. You have every move available to you. You just have to be smart and quick to win the game and protect your King."  
  
The veil of tears covered her sight and she wished she could be angry again. It felt so easy and good to be angry. All she could do is hate, hate, hate, hate and didn't have to think about why, or who, what... just jump to the nearest conclusion and accuse, vent out the anger.  
  
The Queen was heavy in her hand and she clutched it, rubbing the smooth wood against her palm. "But what if I'm the Black Queen?"  
  
Robert turned away from her and picked up his messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder. Before he got on his bike, he answered, "The Black Queen isn't a villain. She is just the sister counterpart to the White." He looked back, the sun glinting off his large glasses. "So she's not evil or bad... she's just misunderstood." He laughed to himself at an unknown joke and cycled away.  
  
Olga stood there in her black slacks and white shirt, staring down at the piece in her hand. Part of her didn't want to move, only to think and think and think. Another part wanted to throw away the Queen, scream and be horridly dark again. And that small part..the part that she listened to, remembered Robert's last words. Wether she were the Black or White Queen didn't matter; neither were evil, neither hated each other... and both were just sisters on the opposite sides of the game.  
  
It had started to rain and she sat down on the bench, smiling. A stranger would've remarked in his head for a second, what a strange woman... and wondered why a lovely young thing like that was smiling in the rain staring at a chess piece. He didn't know (and even Olga didn't know) that she was crying and that the rain droplets merely covered it up. And he also didn't know that she wasn't strange; she was just realizing what she knew all along and what Robert had been telling her.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Silly things, dreams are.  
  
Mr. Simmons looked through the blinds as the children came back hurriedly into the building after the rain. It wasn't supposed to rain, he thought. Then again, you can't trust those weather men, he smiled to himself. Fortune tellers in suits, his father once said. He winced at the thought of his father. It wasn't something he liked to think about - his parents. Or at least..the man he knew as his father.  
  
He noticed on his finger some dust and sighed exasperately. "Wasn't Nathan going to clean up around here?" He looked disappointed at the Student Help Chart in the corner and tsked. Another day at P.S. 118.  
  
Simmons wandered on his original course of thought. What was it?...Dreams? Yes, dreams. They were oddball little things. Scurrying around in the subconscious, trying to tell us millions of things all at once. At least that was his opinion. What did dreams have to do with a dreary day at school? The weather reminded him of Helga Pataki, actually. Quiet, unpredictable... alone out there in the skies.  
  
Exactly like that Pataki girl. His eyes softened and he wondered how she was... it was only yesterday he was there and they were changing the bed. No longer there, no reason to go to the hospital. He panicked at first; what if she... But Arnold was there. Arnold reassured him that she was still alive and well. Only at home, resting.  
  
And Simmons wondered if something happened during her week comatose that made changed Arnold. He looked so much older than he did the last time he saw the boy. His eyes were always wise and all-knowing, but now heavy bags weighed them down, draining them of their youthfulness. His skin was shallow and his hair hastily kept. Just seeing him like that, approaching that hunched over figure with enough thoughts to give the boy a bad back... it broke Simmons' heart to see such a carefree boy worry so much.  
  
"You should go to sleep," he had said to him. He put his hand on the boy's shoulder. Arnold sighed, and shook his head. "I can't," he had whispered. "Even if I went to bed, I don't think I could close my eyes." Mr. Simmons pursed his lips and softly patted him on the shoulder before removing it. "Alright," he put his hands together and kept watch over him apprehensively like a gaurdian angel would.  
  
That was only last night. When he woke up in a chair this morning, Arnold was gone.  
  
So whatever happened to that Pataki girl, he wondered to himself. A part of him was unexplainably unstressed about the situation, and he felt his calm come back to him... the universal truth he believed in that All would be right in the end would come true soon.  
  
The storm rumbled and let rays of sunshine appear through it. Yes, Simmons smiled. A lot like Helga.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Phoebe didn't know how it happened. One minute she was in his arms, the next kissing him...and then.. She looked down at her hands, grabbing the covers and wringing them in her hands. Gerald was asleep beside her, his bare chest going up and down gently. Her eyes softened and a part of her felt tempted to just lean back and hold unto him. Another part felt disgusted with herself. Her friend was in the hospital..and she just sleeps with the first guy that opens his arms. God, she felt like such a slut.  
  
She shivered and rubbed her arms, feeling uglier than usual. I mean, really..what sort of friend does that? She closed her eyes and put her face in her palms. Phoebe didn't mean to. She really didn't! She kept arguing with no one in particular. The man beside her slept blissfully unaware of the turmoil she was in.  
  
You're such a whore, a voice hissed in her mind. Phoebe whimpered and clutched her ears, shaking her head softly. "No, no...I didn't mean to, I-"  
  
You're friend..in the hospital..and you're sleeping around like Jezebel. You know, you're probably the reason why she's even in the hospital.  
  
"What do you mean?.."  
  
What I mean is, genius...if you had really tried to be there for Helga..maybe she wouldn't even be like this now. Comatose, practically dead, suffering practially.  
  
"But-"  
  
Typical that you have an excuse. You always do. Always have an answer for every question and every remark, right? Right..?  
  
"..I.." Phoebe's breathing heightened, shaking her head, feeling cornered.   
  
Well..., the voice said in a tired voice, I guess we couldn't expect much out of you, huh? Even as a friend, you fail.   
  
Tears ran down her cheeks silently as she continued to shake her head. "But..I didn't mean to."  
  
Of course you didn't...the voice faded away with a sarcastic tone. Phoebe trembled, suddenly aware at how small she was and how big the room was. The posters of the sport stars stared at her and she felt dirty, wrapping the purple sheets around her frail body from their black accusing eyes. She didn't mean to.... she really didn't. It was an accident. An accident! She laid down and looked at Gerald, wanting to hold unto him and forget. An accident...  
  
She stared at the ceiling fan with her hands folded over her chest. She swore it was an accident.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Yes, me," she looked a little annoyed, like it was an evitant truth and that nothing had happened. As if there were no attempted suicide, there were no letters, and that Helga G. Pataki was just a regular gal pal of Rhonda's ready to discuss the latest Milan fashions. Her hair was down and covered with a black bandanna which was overlapped by a - Rhonda expected typical of Helga by now, and perhaps a trademark - a small pink ribbon. She had outgrown the big one and was now more experimental with the different styles and kinds they had out there.  
  
Helga's eyes were slightly sunken in and complimented by the deep circles under her eyes. Underneath the bandanna though, Rhonda could balantly see the white bandage. Her eyes moved down to Helga's wrists which were unexpectedly shown. She was wearing a sleeveless dress and carried herself proudly in spite of the ugly scars and imperfections that Rhonda's critical eye could spot a mile away. Her skin wasn't milky white or peach but a very pale yellow; a sickly color that came from being in bed or under severe stress.  
  
"...are you sure?" Rhonda's words came out stupider than they meant to sound. Helga gave a 'hmmm', before turning away to her teacup.   
  
It was as though Rhonda's feet were wearing clunky black boots instead of lightweight sneakers. The jewelry on her fingers and wrists felt more like heavy shackles. She felt like a prisoner in her own house in front of this fragile looking creature that quietly sipped tea in front of her as if nothing happened. As if nothing had ever happened between them.  
  
Helga lifted her cup to her mouth and said before she drank, "You can sit down if you want, Princess." The word Princess didn't come out as mean or sarcastic or even mocking as it used to be, but more..endearing. Like a pet nickname.   
  
The next thing she knew she was at the table, in the plush comfortable chair. She didn't remember walking over here or even moving at all. Her eyes remained on her hands, feeling suddenly shy and too timid to look up at Helga. She was a Lloyd! Of course she could! But still, as she attempted to raise her chin, the heaviness came on her again.  
  
"My, aren't you the chatterbox."  
  
"I'm sorry." The words came out of nowhere surprising both of them.  
  
Rhonda lifted her head finally and met Helga's cloudy eyes. "..How are you?"  
  
Helga laughed and put her hand on her forehead, removing it suddenly conscious of the wound. "God, where to start..." she coughed in her hand. "I guess...I just feel me right now," she said. Obviously catching Rhonda's bizarre what-do-you-mean look, she added, "I can't explain it. It's...a rather empty feeling." Feeling generous with her words, she continued, "It's like... I'm not really here. I mean, I am," she laughed quietly, rolling her eyes at her poetic use of words, "but it's like I can't feel. Its something aiken to being numb."  
  
"oh..." Rhonda said, looking down at the pristine yet elegant white table cloth. She knew exactly how that felt. At those dinner parties with sleazy old men staring at her, young male gold diggers licking their lips, and prissy fair-weather hearted girls talking behind her back... it was easy to become detached when you knew that the only reason why someone bothered to talk to you was just for the fact that you had a Swiss bank account.  
  
"...it's hard to understand, I-"  
  
"It isn't." Rhonda replied. "Not at all," she said softly, fingers playing with the edge of the table cloth then remembered her manners and casually posiioned them.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yes..." she smiled to herself. She fidgeted in her chair, struggling with the proper manners and the nervousness she felt. "So..." she trailed off.  
  
"So..." Helga trailed off as well. "I bet you're wondering why I'm here, right?"  
  
"YES!" she erupted before she could stop herself. "Why aren't you in the hospital? More importantly why-" Did you send me that letter, she added silently.  
  
Helga leaned back, narrowing her eyes before closing them. She sighed and looked pained. Then her face became relaxed and she said, "I had to see you."  
  
"Why?" It was farfetched to Rhonda. Why would Helga want anything to do with her? Why...would she make her go through all this pain... and actually care?  
  
"I...don't know," she opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, looking exasperated with the world and the funny things that happened in life. "To be perfectly friggin' honest, when I got out of my bed this morning and walked around on the streets, my feet just led me here. Call it insanity, Princess, but... there was a part of me that wanted to talk to you for some reason,-" she cut herself off with a sardonic laugh, "but like we'd ever actually talk, right?" Her laughter and the words hurt and Rhonda winced, gritting her teeth.  
  
"Right," she relunctantly agreed, as if against her will. She looked away. Helga became quiet and looked down before getting up. "I'll, uh..see myself out."  
  
"Alright..." Helga was almost out the door before Rhonda spoke again.  
  
She was hunched over, leaning into her hand and eyes shadowed over by her hair. "Why did you send me that letter, Helga?"  
  
Helga paused, putting her hand on the door frame, looking ahead of her. It was almost as if what was in the darkness could be her answer to Rhonda. "I," she paused again, thinking some more. "I guess you could say...I thought you'd understand why I was going to do it, in a weird way." Before she could walk out again, she felt Rhonda's hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Helga-"  
  
"Save it," Helga cut her off. "I know what you're going to say." Her eyebrows furrowed together. "You're going to say it was a big mistake, that only someone like me would have the gall to go through with... with..."  
  
"Helga.." Rhonda's voice was soft and gentle like a mother's. Helga eyed her venomously. "What?" and shrugged her hand off before walking off. Rhonda felt the boots on her feet again and couldn't move; just staring after Helga as she turned her back on her. She whispered, pretending that Helga was here, "I do understand why you did it." She slid down against the doorway. "I do," and started to cry because she felt it in herself too.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
She didn't want to love him. It was hard to not to though. She sighed, feeling pathetic at the moment. It was hard to do anything nowadays. She became increasingly convinced that the older one became the harder life was. Of course, this was true and applicable at any age: life was just hard, period.  
  
Everyone wants it to be easy. To have the answers right away, to have everything solved and wrapped up in a nice neat package. She threw up her hands and plopped down on the bed, head in the pillows. And why couldn't it be so?  
  
"Because life sucks," she mumbled into her pillow. Lila sighed and rubbed her head against the pillow, turning her head to the side. What was wrong with her? Everything, obviously at the moment. She seemed to be on the verge of laughing and crying and screaming at the same time. Was this even normal?  
  
"I should talk," she snorted. Normal. What an awful word that paralyzed her world. Along with perfect. She laid on her back and stared at her green ceiling. Arnold, she thought, wincing at the reminder. One of these days she'd have to repaint this room.  
  
She didn't want to love him, but it was true; once you love someone, you can't stop the feeling.  
  
She sighed and put the pillow over her head. Maybe if she suffocated to death, it would. But before she could go through with it (like she really would), the phone beside her rang.  
  
She didn't move, with the pillow on her face until the third ring. Lila stared at the answering machine as it beeped.  
  
"Hey this is Lila! I'm ever so sorry, but I'm not in! Please leave your message after the beep, please! I look ever so much to returning your phone call." She winced at how peppy she sounded. What did she really sound like anymore? It was hard to remember or even imagine herself talking any other way. She had been doing it for so long, it almost felt...natural.  
  
The beep came and so did the message, "Hey, this is Arnold.. I was wondering if we could talk sometime. Just go down to the Ice Cream parlor and just... talk.. yeah..." he sounded nervous. "Uhh, yeah, well..." he sighed. "Guess you're not in. Call me back when you can. Bye." And then the haunting sound of the dial tone replaced his voice.  
  
Lila stared at the answering machine before getting up and tearing out the phone line. A beautiful manicured nail pressed a button and a second later, the message was erased. "I'm ever so sorry but I never got your message, Arnold," she grumbled and rubbed her eye, trying to suppress the short gasps and the tears.  
  
It was better to have not loved than to have lost.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
TBC...  
  
  
  
Okay, it's nearing the END. SOON! Tune in because in either the next chapter or the one after it is the last one before the epilogue! Probably the former. ^______^ The end of DOBS IS NEAR! *angels sound off* Haaaaaaleeejuaaah! Sing with me! *butt-bumps a nearby angel* oh yeah! Hustle, baby, hustle! ^_~  
  
A thank you to those who helped with this chapter. It was a long process but there were a few people that pushed me to get it done, however very late. Thank you again!!  
  
Later,  
  
-Bunni Girl  
p.s.  
Sorry to the readers for making this come out so late! Writers block and..well..problems. But never fear! Bunni shall never be late ever again!!!  



	14. Silence

Disclaimer: Do yo thang.

Fanfic Summary: Helga snaps after she sees various things in her life go wrong, grades, family, friends, and her love. She sees the only way out after one night. Will someone save her before it was too late?

Chapter Summary: Another interlude..this time between everyone and everyone else. Lol, did that make sense? Didn't think so.

Shout out: Thanks to all who had nothing but encouraging words in spite of the rather lame flame I got. Seriously. It was lame. I even gave a better example in my response of what would've broken my spirit. (sigh) there should really be standards for flamers and even hell.. a school! How else are we gonna get quality flamers to actually break our souls and put down our pens? (shakes head disappointedly) The world today.. too much emphasis on TV, not enough on flaming. Bah!

Dreams of Blue Skies

Chapter Thirteen

It is said that when you're alone, that's when the world truly ends.

Not with hellfire or comets, not with asteroids showering the soil. Not with women crying for their lost children, men weeping in the streets because their lives are gone. Not with God. Not with Buddha. Not with the Hopi. Not with a flood. Not with wild animals eating human carcasses. Not with children wandering around in the alleyways for food. Not with birds flying ominously. Not with any of those famous Plagues. Not with a song.

But it ends with silence as you sit down in the middle of walking through your life and realize: you're alone.

The wind will blow, the leaves will pass your line of eyesight, and something very fragile inside of you will die. Something you tried to keep a hold of for so long, but the biggest irony is that you didn't even know you had it within you. So it's let go once you do.

The ground and air will be cold, the atmosphere will speak but you know it's your imagination. No one's talking. No one. Nothing but yourself. It's silent. It's almost dead.

It's alone.

Helga shivered as she walked through that sordid metaphor, unhappy in the park. Alone. She knew how often that happened to her: cold and unfriendly, wandering in familiar yet so strange places, without a friend in the world.

The twisted faces of trees howled at her and she shied away from them, feeling unwanted, longing to go back. Go back to warmth, go back to the womb, go back to oblivion. Up again popped that desire of wanting to be a missed period instead of a fertilized egg, because life just meant dying. Dying the day you were conceived, the day you breathed air, the day you opened your eyes and sensed.

We're all zombies in our special different ways. Helga realized that. Maybe that's why she got a little angry and maybe that's why the wind seemed to get a little harder, a little cooler, a little bit bad.

It wasn't that she could forget her sorry life and the things that happened to her before. More now than ever, in a secret way, she wishes she wasn't rescued and death did come. So that way she didn't feel so alone.

But if sticks and stones can break my bones, Helga will never get what she wants.

It's fate, you see. She saw it so clearly now as she slid herself on a sticky wooden bench. She'd never get anything she desired; that was for other people. Life would always be unfair towards her. And so, as she struggled to accept it, something in her didn't want to. And if you were listening at all, it didn't get its way; and she accepted. Helga became very angry.

It's funny, too. Just a few feet away was where her sister played chess an hour ago and contemplated the concept of Helga and sisterhood, and herself as well.

Helga on the bench however just thought about Why. Why Arnold? Why Brainy? Why her? Why Bob and Miriam and Olga and Phoebe and Lila? Why anything? Why even why? Why is there a why? What sort of God would make such a horrible concept like that? To keep us morbidly guessing and guessing, wondering and wondering, thinking and thinking for all time? What sort of lord would do that to his servant, berate him by cursing him with hardships through life?

So Helga crossed her arms and sighed, letting her head fall back. Why even bother?

Rhonda was a total mistake, she thought, finally able to face it. She didn't even know WHY (there it is, again with that word) she went there of all places. When she could've met up with Brainy or Phoebe or even Arnold. Hell, Lila would've made a better choice.

...Then thinking about it, Helga decided it wouldn't be. Nope, wouldn't be any fun to see that bitch, Helga thought with bite, giving a little laugh.

Imagine her, marching up to Lila and asking if they could talk! Ha! She laughed a little more. Bittersweet humor, lend me more culture than that. Her words didn't make anymore sense as they fumbled into senseless poetry format. Yes, yes, glistening sorrows, beads of tears floating down the merry hills of death, I would ever so adore to talk to you, Lila!

"God, I'm stoned," she muttered, smirking as she lolled her head from side to side. She looked at the sky and it's compressing nature as it threatened to thunder and weep on her. She stuck out her tongue in an infinite dare to see if it would.

It did.

"Bah," she glared, getting used to this happening to her. Her luck was sour like five week old milk, curdling like a crude cottage cheese. She started to get up, getting tired of her melancholy in favor of something more warm (like muscled arms/like hot chocolate/like stuffed animals/like a sleeping bag/like love) when she was stopped by a figure before her.

"Helga..."

Helga arched her eyebrow at the mess before her.

"Phoebe?"

It happened to be that Gerald woke up alone.

This was new.

Usually the girls he slept with were clingy and always overstayed their welcome, trying to cuddle with him, talk to him, love him, make him love them ... and he had suspected Phoebe was of the same collar.

That's why he was a little more than stumped, propping his chin into his palm looking around his room to find traces of her. You COULD lose yourself in Gerald's room after all; it wasn't a possibility he totally eliminated yet. He did find her glasses but shrugged it off. She could probably see without them.

After a few more minutes of ridiculous waiting around, he finally got up set on looking for her. This was also new.

Usually he let it be and didn't look for the girls. The girls usually looked for him. Usually.

But this was a special occasion. This disruption in the pattern of girls made Gerald curious about Phoebe in general. What sort of girl was she underneath? He always got glimpses and traces, but they were mere snail trails; a thin glittery path of her real self. He had known her since kindergarten but did he know her. Hell, as if anyone really knew him sometimes. He grumbled to himself, slipping on the slippers and going down for breakfast. Just because he wanted to find her today didn't mean that he was going to give up a breakfast. As he slinked down the stairs he was alert to see his father still reading the paper.

Right. It was Sunday.

He stole a glance at the clock. Almost noon, he noted, noticing the cruel weather forming outside the window.

"Mornin', Gerald." His father mumbled as he took a sip of coffee.

"Mmorbim," Gerald vaguely mumbled back as he rummaged through the fridge. Lessee, he thought. Eggs? Too raw. Apples. Ew, too healthy. Hmmm ... donuts. Score! And shoved a sprinkled beauty into his mouth at once.

"Learn to breathe when you eat one of these days," His father said without looking up from his paper. Gerald glared. How does he do that?

"Practice."

Gerald widened his eyes. Creeeepy. He shuffled around to sit down when he noticed the shoes by the doorway. White, small, Phoebe's. He spun around looking for her. Did his dad see her? "Uhh, Dad, did you happen to see anything..."

"If you mean that girl," his father continued to read the paper, his voice never changing its tone, "then yes, Gerald, I did see her and yes, you are in trouble."

"Crap." He paused. "Is she here?"

"She left." His father looked up and frowned. "What'd you do to that poor girl?"

"What!" Gerald's precious donuts fell to the floor at his father's accusation. Pfft, he only gave Phoebe a great night of pleasure (or as he liked to call it, "her riding the Gerald train", "gettin' Gerafied", "keeping yo Geroove on", and other corny 70s cop-offs.) "I didn't do anything!"

"Well," he went on as he went back to his newspaper, shaking his head at disapproval at his son's behavior. "It sure looked like something. Big crying mess, clear pushed me out of the way and ran out the door. I swear, you're turning out to be like your brother Jamie."

Gerald's answer was a big stupid, "What?" He looked at the shoes at the doorway and then at the rumbling weather outside. Then he ran out the door.

Gerald's father yelled from the doorway, "Gerald! Gerald!" and then closed the door and shook his head as he sat down at the table again. "Damn kid didn't even put on shoes..."

Phoebe shivered in Helga's arms, crying and wiping away the snot that dribbled down like big drops of rain with her hands. She felt pathetic and useless. She was supposed to be comforting Helga, not the other way around. After all, it was Helga who winded up in the hospital, not her. But still, she succumbed to strong, so so strong Helga's arms and comfort. Even appreciating the harsh chastising she fed Phoebe.

"Stupid Phoebe, wandering around half-naked and no shoes. God, are you tryin' to kill yourself? I swear if you ever try anything so stupid again, I'll kill you, you hear me.." and trailed off as she guided the fragile girl home.

Home. What was that again, both girls thought. Was it a house with their family or was it another word for love? Love that they can't have and that they don't deserve. Home were those warm arms both wanted. Warm and welcoming, welcoming to their faults and mistakes and flaws as well as the few good things they offer back. Love and acceptance is what anyone really wants, right?

Phoebe tried to look through her teary-eyed vision of life. It was blurry and confusing, big and watery and mussed up. She tried to wipe it all clean but the vision came back and she cried more. Tears ran down and wouldn't stop; not for her, not for her self-will or reputation, not for the world.

_Whore, you're a whore, a horrible friend, a bad person-_

Stop, stop, stop, she begged as more tears fell. Stop, stop, oh please, stop, and clutched onto Helga harder, leaning onto her shoulder as they lumbered into the Pataki household.

She heard Bob getting up and saying something before Helga gave a hot angry retort before forcing herself to apologize and explain the situation softly.  
brbr Situation.

Phoebe leaned against the wall as words and fragments of their quiet conversation seeped into her fevered brain.

"...found her..."

"...god damn it, girl..."

"...put her in bed..."

"...fucking kid is nuts to go out in this weather..."

"...give me a minute..."

"...call her..."

She faded out before she could hear the rest. But she knew what he was saying. She was a burden. As always.

_Look at you, Phoebe. Making extra workload for everyone else. And Helga probably feels horrible..horrible now that you've gone and made yourself sick. It's always about you, isn't it? All about you, you, you, you..._ All that came then was silence.

For it is silence that plagues us the most, what we fear in all the world.

Because silence means we're alone.

Two boys were secretly watching the phone. One was pretending to ignore it when he knew he wanted it to ring, the other was in denial that he was even spying on it. And both wanted it to be the same girl to call.

While Brainy lifted weights, every now and then glancing at the phone across the room, Arnold did his homework, distractedly filling in any answer (a regular 2+25 divded by the square root of 59sort of thing) refusing to let his glance fall from the phone.

And then it rang. Brainy dropped the weights, Arnold dropped his pencil, and both grabbed the phone at the same time.

And then they gritted their teeth at each other.

It was upstairs in Arnold's room where Fate had frowned upon both of them. Cruel and humored fate that they were stuck doing a project together, as the ironies would have it.

"It's mine," Arnold growled and grabbed the phone from the somber Brainy.

Brainy only growled back forcing his grip to loosen only to become a fist at his side. He jealously watched as Arnold answered. They would've done it at his house if it weren't for the fact that he lost his key. So he had come here the Olympus of his love's god. He sneered as he looked around. It was too blue. He looked back at the object of Helga's desires and scowled. Yes, fate was cruel.

Arnold on the other hand, wasn't enjoying it much either. For one, he could've picked a million other people he would've enjoyed working with (even so, tolerated.) Even Helga wasn't as bad as this whiner and that was saying something. Another thing, it was a bizarre handpick that his teacher in Chemistry paired the two now sworn enemies together. Thinking a little bit about it, it was a lot like when Helga was there.

"Hello?" Arnold spoke.

"Hey man!" Arnold became disappointed. No Helga. Just Gerald.

"Oh hey Ger-" he began evenly, avoiding the smug look of Brainy.

"Look man," Gerald cut him off. Arnold was surprised at the frantic tone in his friend's voice. It wasn't that subtle.

"I need your help!"

"What happened, Gerald?"

"It's Phoebe. She's...she's gone!"

"What?"

"Yeah man, that's what I said."

"How, what...what do you mean she's gone?" Brainy looked interested, fingers tapping impatiently against a book. Next time he resolved, he'd pick up the phone and run away with it.

"I..I don't know." There was a pause on the line.

"Do her parents know about it?"

"No man, you're the first person I've told. She..."

Arnold sensed there was something his friend wasn't telling him. "What exactly happened, Gerald?" He asked.

"...We slept together," Gerald mumbled.

"YOU SLEPT WITH HER!"

"Jesus Christ man, can you lower it DOWN!"

"God dammit, Gerald! When will you stop thinking with your dick?"

"HEY! It wasn't like I _planned_ it. We kissed and badda boom badda bing we ended up in bed. Simple as that." Arnold let him continue while he struggled to keep his cool composure. Brainy on the other hand was enjoying the show, happy this phone call was not about Helga (and unhappy that this call was tying up the lines PREVENTING Helga from calling) and then happy again at Arnold's outrage. He smirked and went back to weight lifting.

"And then when I woke up this morning, _she wasn't there_. I thought to myself, it's alright, she probably left for home. So imagine MY surprise when my dad not only sees her but says she _ran_ out of the house **crying** _half naked_ and-"

"What did you _DO_ to her!"

"NOTHING!" He was starting to get frustrated with everyone thinking it was his fault. He huffed and then silently thought to himself that for all he knew, it probably _was_ his doing. "God, why is everyone telling me that?"

"Maybe because it is..."

"Look man, I called you to get your help, not to get chewed out. I'm in my _pajamas_ _in a_ friggin _phone booth_ on Fourth getting _ALLL_ sorts of weird stares and I need you to come down. It's gonna rain and I have no _friggin _clue where to start looking."

Arnold sighed. "I'm sorry. I'll be done alright? Where's your cross street?"

"It's near that ice cream parlor, man."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be right over. Seeya."

"Yeah, seeya." And they both hung up. Arnold sighed again, put his hand through his hair and looked at Brainy. "Hey, I'm going to be gone for a while." And he detested the next words that came out of his mouth. "Watch the phone for me while I'm out."

"No problemo," Brainy gave an angelic beam. Arnold narrowed his eyes dangerously before grabbing his coat and umbrella, mumbling to himself as he went down the stairs. "God damn Gerald..."

It wasn't until the stairs slammed back up that Brainy thought about his position. Finally he had a monopoly over the phone. It was what he was waiting for all afternoon. But somehow it seemed empty and he looked at the door that Arnold disappeared through before sighing. "Why me?" he muttered as he put on a coat to go and keep Arnold company. "I'm too fucking nice for my own good," he decided.

As the stairs slammed up and the footsteps echoed down the hall, the phone rang.

And then fell silent.

Outside, Gerald shivered, unwilling to give up his secure spot in the phone booth despite the jabbing of a stubborn old lady.

"Young man, I need to make a phone call this instant," she toothed. Gerald rubbed his arms wincing when she poked him with her cane.

"Look, Miss, I'm cold and-"

"Well, you should've thought of that BEFORE you ran out in your bunny slippers," she retorted, continuing her abuse.

He sighed, letting her, his arms limping falling to his side. What's the use? She's just going to find another spot to bruise. And besides, she was right. He could've wore at least some sneakers before he went to look for Phoebe. He looked down at his embarrassingly blue bunny slippers. The fluff around them were dirty from the running around on the muddy sidewalks. For a brainy Asian girl, she was really hard to find in the crowds.

Gerald had started to hit his head against the glass side of the phone booth, matching the rhythm of the complaints and jabs of Mrs. Hawoksy (pronounced Ka-wows-skee or else it's a harder jab).

The troubles of the seventy-eight year old Irish great-grandmother were less than unnerving as he kept up a good steady rhythm of head abuse when he felt a knock on the glass.

"What now?" came his creaky groan.

The Calvary had arrived. He smiled at the face of a very unpleasant Arnold, never more happy to see his pissed off friend. "Joy!" He ran out, practically pushing the old lady and almost breaking her hip to hug his footballheaded companion around the waist.

Mrs. Hawoksy on the other hand shook her cane and went instead the dreary phone booth, yelling, "If my husband were alive to see what a disgrace America's youth would be, _he'd shoot himself in the head_!"

The words deeply paralleled the situation that had started this all. Arnold winced. But Gerald paid no mind. Here was the Calvary. He were his rescue, his support, his-

"Let's get you warm, you dumbass, before we try to undo the damage you've done," Arnold said.

.._friend._

"Uh," Gerald, too cold and too uncomfortable in his wet P.J.s to really mind being called a dumbass, "..sure.." and flopped back, bunny slippers scraping against the sidewalk. He finally noticed Brainy at his side. "Hey, what's _he_ doing here?" A defense mechanism concerning his rep at school went into place and he began to feel embarrassed.

"I have no idea," both replied at the same time before glaring at each other and continuing to walk.

"O..k..." Gerald said as they walked, shivering. "You know, when we go back to school, I'd appreciate the whole thing about the bunny slippers to be kept under wraps..."

And here his request was met with no reply.

Helga watched as the marshmallow died a slow death in her drink. How was it she could see symbols of life in everything?

Phoebe was tucked away upstairs in her room and Bob was watching his T.V. It was almost as if nothing had ever changed. Just like before. But then there were those subtle differences that not everyone can catch.

Bob had attempted to use manners. That was the first shock of the day. And then he tried to ask how was her day ... which was even _more _alarming.

It would honestly take some good getting used to. She sipped her hot chocolate. Which for her would revolutionize the system.

A creak in the kitchen and she knew that it was either her mom or Olga. And since her mother would try to make some sort of noise, i.e., talking, Helga knew it was Olga. "What do you want?"

Olga paused and then slowly made her way to the counter. "Just..to talk."

"Ah."

"Can I?"

"Sure, free country." She shrugged and let her sister sit by her, ignoring the stare.

"So..how was your day?"

"Rainy." A big pause settled in and finally she sighed and rolled her eyes. "How was yours?" _This outta be a good._

"It was good," she said quickly. "But not too good. But good enough. It wasn't perfect, you know... just a regular day." It amused Helga to see her sister flustered, which wasn't often. In fact, it was never. Little Miss Perfect and Composed seemed to have lost her pep.

Ha! Try saying THAT five times fast, Helga smirked to herself. "Is that so?" she murmured before she sipped more of her chocolate. It was hard to warm herself up after that biting cold in the park, even harder at the feel of Rhonda's stares, how Helga felt like such a freak in front of her.

Hmm..

She stared off into space, not even giving her sister a half dose of the attention that she probably wanted. Well, whoopdedoo, I never get anything I want and I always complain, Princess.

"Helga?"

"Huh?" She shifted her focus back onto her sister. She saw the tiredness in her face, the sadness in her eyes, and alas, was surprised to see no running mascara with Olga's tears. This got her attention.

"I..I wanted to-" god, this was so hard. Why was this so hard? they were simple words! Basic words every human being learns in the beginning of their life. And yet, it came with such vulnerability, such responsibility and weight and-"I'm sorry..."

There. She said it. It was out there in the open.

"..why?" Helga looked at her strange, very disturbed at her sister's new behavior.

"I.." How do you say this sort of thing? How do you apologize for being the center of attention, of never seeing your sister, looking through her and being blind, of enjoying stealing the attention, somehow humiliating her, getting sick sibling revenge? How do you say that sort of thing to a person who tried to kill themselves? Who faced day after day of feeling like no one ever wanted them in the first place? Not their family, friends, or even (Olga wondered if this was true or not) their loves? To be alone, walking in a crowd? To be alone at a party, at an awards ceremony, with no one you love or who loves you smiling or taking pictures anxiously at the seat? No one to celebrate with, no one to sing happy birthday with, no one to even remember birthdays... How can you say such a thing to a person who's been through that? How can you explain it tactfully so that they don't get mixed feelings or become hurt?

You can't.

And deep down, Olga realized that.

She swallowed the big gulp of sorrow within her, forcing it down her throat as she said what she had dreaded for so long, "Because."

It would sound lame to the regular bystander, a lame excuse for a very lame sister with an even lamer apology. But tears threatened to bring about a Second Flooding with no black blood to roll down the marble hills, as she shook in her slacks, preparing for the worst. A volcanic blowup coming out of a human would've been necessary.

Helga just stared. She didn't hold her sister but simply went: "After all this time you expect me to forgive you-"

"No, I don't, Helga, I-"

"Let me finish." A pause. "You expect me to forgive you... you want to be sisters again. But until you get the balls to say what exactly you're sorry for to my face, no matter how blunt or cruel it is, you're never going to get an ounce of sympathy from me." She got up and walked out of the kitchen and up her room.

There was no TV on. Bob had gone to sleep probably.

And Olga was left in the room, crying, shaking, but refusing to wake anyone up with her sobs, preferring to be left alone...in silence.

TBC...

Bah! Aren't I evil? No, not really. Well, thanks to all my flamers. Just a little note: I was fourteen years old and a Christian when I wrote this. A really stupid ignorant uninformed person I might add. So apologies to the whole marijuana thing and the overbearing Godliness. What can I say? I was young, I was naive..

And I know I was late with this chapter. So much crap happened..and then I forgot..and when I remembered, was down. So I couldn't do anything about it. Then I forgot again. Now that's me being evil. Anyways, enjoy this chapter, reread it until you got it all memorized and by then I'll have the next chapter out.

Lovingly appreciate it! (Bunni Girl runs off to write more chapters)


	15. Strings Attached

by Bunni Girl

Dreams of Blue Skies

(Strings Attached)

As we're afraid of silence, we're afraid of being controlled.

There are different types of control, you see. The type that's good, for instance, and the type that's bad, is another. And then there's the one where it's unintentional. Another is somewhere all in between. Controlled by an addiction, a _desire_, a _thought_; controlled by a hope, a fantasy, a _wish_; controlled by a _dream, a nightmare, a memory_.

And then there's the type of control we're not aware of. The ones of love and blood.

If you had that sort of childhood where you were actually read to bed at night, tucked in, you must've heard that story. That one about Pinocchio. Heck, every kid's heard of that guy, right? Puppet master desires a son, carves one out of wood… it comes to life, faces symbolic misfortunes before finally achieving (I'm going to spoil this one for those who don't know) reality; becoming a real boy.

That's control. That's a perfect example of control. What better imagery than the puppet master, our parent, and the puppet, the child? You may scoff at this "theory" but it makes perfect sense when you think about it. Many parents adopt this sort of godly attitude: I created you, therefore I can control what you do and say. And all you teenagers, you know what I'm sayin'.. we rebel and kinda make them wish they hadn't had kids in the first place. Yeah! You know what I'm talking about.

We _hate _that control. I'm not kidding you..some kids, including me, hate it to the deepest core. Hate the fact that we have someone superior to us for no reason clear to us, why they get to do things we don't get to do, why they have rights when we don't (and they preach about equality…)

But in some ways, that's a good control. It keeps some of us from doing stupid things that we'd probably do without our parents.

And…in some ways, many ways… it's a bad control that's abused (as it is in my case). But still, simply, control, and it's resented. Free will? Pfftt.

But before we get sidetracked from the real story, I just wanted to point out that we're afraid of control. How many of us freak out when our routines are disturbed or someone else bosses us around? Or when situations are beyond our control? We want to break down and cry, get angry, throw things, get a little tantrum, become destructive externally or internally… very typical and normal reactions if you take Pysch 101. But still, we feel weak, vulnerable, scared. Controlled. Control makes us angry at feeling those things that we associate with weakness.

And that's how everyone feels inside… very insecure and weak. Some cover it up, some don't. But in the end, I think that's how everyone goes and lives their lives.

Controlled.

Phoebe was controlled by her thoughts. By the little voice in her head that said she couldn't do it, that she wasn't strong enough, not smart enough, not good enough to achieve anything.

And she persevered through, trying to prove that little voice wrong.

Yet it was with her, almost like an annoying sidekick, yet instead of cheering booing her all the way to the top. Who would've believed her, Valedictorian, Captain of the Chess Club, Asian club,_ and_ Mathematics & Science Decathlon team, a girl with a near 4.5 GPA (if only that damn Bishop kid wasn't in the way), that she had a little voice in her head that told her she was nothing but a failure?

Maybe if they did take her half seriously, they'd tell her that was normal… everyone has that little voice. You just overcome it.

But what if, Phoebe had thought, when you do what it said you couldn't do, it's there still? Hissing that you're a mistake, you weren't meant to be there, you're a stain on this good earth and an insult to those you're around?

"_I didn't want her."_

Phoebe opened her eyes and looked at her pink surroundings. Everything was fuzzy and she felt around for her glasses, sighing relieved when she grabbed the rims. Putting them carefully on, she wiped the sweat from her brow and attempted to sit up.

Ow. Bad idea.

She laid back down, breathing shallowly from her dream. Or nightmare. Or whatever it was. She grabbed a pillow, looking around the room more carefully. Pink. Helga. And she remembered last night.

Boy, was she an idiot. Idiot, idiot, idiot. She almost hit herself to emphasize the point. How could she make Helga worry and go through so much trouble?

She groaned and held her head as she struggled to get out of bed. No, she had to get out of here, away from them all. She was bothering them all, taking advantage of their hospitality. She could get up, she could walk. It wasn't like she was _dying_ or anything.

Owwww.

But it sure _felt_ that way.

_Alright, Phoebe. Let's think rationally_. She lay back down, already being burnt twice by the kitchen stove. _You're in bed, you can't really move, and if you do try and move, you're going to wish you _hadn't_ moved._ That seemed rational enough. The best she could do right now was not move and just wait for Helga to get here to help her get dressed.

In the mean time…she was stuck in bed staring at the wall.

"_I didn't want her, Kyo."_

Why are you doing this to me? She asked, holding back the tears in the corner of her eyes. She couldn't help them as the slid down her face anyway.

_Poor little Phoebe. What's a matter? No one want you?...maybe that's because they know that you're not worth having._

"_I didn't want her, Kyo."_

_You're pathetic..useless.. what can you do that no one else has done already?_

"_I didn't want her."_

"_I know, Reba."_

_That's right…remember._

It was her dream again. Only, she wasn't a hundred percent sure that it_ was _a dream. Where it started, that was another thing she was clueless on. But it was her coming to the hallway for whatever reasons, thirsty, hungry, tired, scared… and pausing by a crack in her parents' door.

Now Phoebe in real life was never one to EVER eavesdrop. But certain things piqued her hearing. And once you listen, you can't just walk away….especially from the things they were talking about.

How old was she? She felt young..very young. It was probably a year or two before she met Helga (and that was definitely young). She could only make so many guesses…how would she know?

But it was the words that caught her. Words that she didn't understand.

"_I don't think I can handle it, Kyo.."_

"_Reba, please, I know it feels hard and I'm going through it too but-"_

"_No! That's exactly it! You're not going through the same thing I'm going through." A sigh. "I just…I don't know who I am anymore, Kyo.. everything that's happened since Phoebe was born.. it just gets me.. I don't know.."_

_Her father didn't say anything._

_Her mother continued. "I didn't want her, Kyo. You know that."_

"_I know she was an accident, Reba, but isn't she a good one?"_

"_I'm not so sure," her mother began to cry. "I love her so much but I don't even remember who I used to be before her…. That's what's scares me. I can't go after the things I wanted to anymore-"_

"_Do you regret then?"_

"_Regret what?"_

"_This..her..us…me?"_

_Her mother didn't say anything and then she heard whispering. Whispering turned into moans, moans turned into her walking to bed and falling asleep._

She opened her eyes, sweating more than ever.

"_I didn't want her, Kyo."_

Her mother had an affair when Phoebe was two with another man, some other man. It was short and it didn't mean anything because she went back to her husband in the end. She loved her family more than the things she thought she was giving up forever. But Phoebe couldn't shake off how she found out…from the secret disgusted gossip from her aunts about her whore mother, how they couldn't understand why Kyo couldn't find someone better.

They regarded Phoebe almost at the status of a bastard child, something retarded and slow, something inferior to their children. Because of her mother.

"_If you're lucky, your whore mother won't corrupt you and maybe a man will want you as his wife,"_ her aunt Usagi would hiss.

What would they all say when they saw her now? "See? See? Didn't I tell you I was right? Like mother like daughter! Whore shall follow whore!"

And they were right. They were so, so right.

She started to sob, thinking of how she woke up in Gerald's bed, how she just gave away what she had been holding for marriage foolishly, blindly, for someone who probably wouldn't appreciate it anyway.

_That's right, Phoebe. Cry. You're a crybaby. A crybaby whore who can't do anything right._

_Stop, stop, stop,_ she thought, holding the sides of her head tight vainly.

_Why? Why stop the truth?_ It was sick how the laughter mocked her. _After all, the truth shall set you free._

But all it did was hold her in shackles.

There was so much noise, why was there so much noise? Her head was hurting, the voices wouldn't stop, the accusations wouldn't end, it wasn't stopping, why wasn't it stopping, why was there so much noise? Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop. Images in her head zoomed with audio to match.

"_I didn't want her."_/_"Whore like your mother."_/_"Do you regret everything?"_/_"I love you, Phoebe."_

It all stopped. She opened her eyes. Where did that one come from?

The clock beside her ticked and tocked. Everything was very still. Phoebe stared at the wall.

"_I love you, Phoebe…"_

_I…_

_Don't listen, Phoebe. He's lying to you. He's using you for the whore you are. Don't listen, you'll just know I'm right and you're wrong-_

_I love him._

She held the pillow tightly, waiting for the voice to berate her but she didn't care. She removed her glasses and sighed, not minding it for once. _"I love you, Phoebe."_ After all, the voice _could _be right. Gerald could be using her. He was a rather big playboy.

_See? _It sounded smug.

Then again… she bit her lip, thinking to herself. If being a whore meant that she didn't mind him being a playboy and still caring for him…

_Whore, you're a whore, a whore like your mother-_

Then so be it.

…_don't you care anymore?_

_About what?_

_Your image._

_What is that anymore?_

_Your everything._

Phoebe was a little surprised. The voice seemed a bit nervous now, more erratic because of the apathetic way she was responding to it.

_So what?_

_So what?... so what! What do you mean so what? Listen, you ungrateful little whore, you wouldn't be here today if it weren't for me…_

_That so?_ She wasn't really listening. The more time that passed, the more surprised Phoebe was at herself. She was sincerely beyond caring. Love, hate, being a whore…what was the difference? Nothing mattered at the moment. No matter what she did she lost. She would rather submit and fall than struggle and fight… funny.. I'm a lover not a fighter. Almost enough to make her laugh.

_This isn't a joke, Phoebe. I promise you, you're going to wish you listened to me more often. It's because you didn't listen to me that you're in this mess at all. Didn't I tell you once upon a time not to talk to that Helga girl? Didn't I?_

_That you did._

_Hm. And didn't I say just stay quiet, alone, and don't socialize with anyone, and you'll make it out alive?_

_Yup._

_And didn't I say that Gerald was trouble from the start? Along with Helga?_

_Uh huh._

_And look at you..a mess in your friend's bed, your suicidal friend.. you haven't even thought about her once, have you? No. You haven't. Just crying and moping about your own things… at least Helga wouldn't be such a pathetic whore like you are. She'd actually do something about it._

_Like what?_ She felt like testing it.

_You really want to know? _Suddenly the voice didn't sound so timid anymore.._  
_

Phoebe widened her eyes.

_No..no, I can't._

_Oh yes you can.. you never Helga'd do it but she had the balls…_ A conceited pause. _Why not you too?_

"Let me ask you something, Gerald," Arnold gritted as he took his place by the phone. Gerald relaxed in very warm clothes, in a very warm room, feeling very warm.

"Shoot, my man."

"Just what the hell were you thinking!"

But the company wasn't so warm, that's for sure, Gerald thought. Brainy hid a smirk behind his hand as he sat on the bed pretending to read his book.

"Uhh..about Phoebe or walking around in my pajamas looking for her?"

Arnold slapped his head. "I don't know, pick."

"Oh." A pause. "Come on, man.. You gotta know that these things just happen sometimes, right?"

"Ri-i-ight."

Gerald scowled. "Hey, look buddy, I don't remember asking _you_." Brainy snorted and went back to his book not at all regretful of his unwanted comment.

"Hey, back off," Arnold held up his hand, "cool off, Gerald. Look. We're all pretty pissed," _I know I am_, he thought, "but we gotta keep a cool head about things." Gerald sighed, toying with his afro.

"Yeah, I know, man. It's just… I-" He didn't even know what to say. Arnold caught on and continued.

"Now let's go through this, nice and slow… what exactly happened between you and Phoebe?"

"Besides the obvious?"

"Erm.." Arnold blushed. "Yeah, besides that." Arnold still couldn't get used to his friend's habits.

"Well…after you left us together, I dunno…she was this crying mess. I swear I didn't make any moves on her. She just leaned in and kissed me out of the blue. And then..well, one thing led to another…" Gerald got a silly grin on his face before he wiped it off. "There weren't any words exchanged, I swear, so you can't blame it on anything stupid I said except.."

That stopped the fast motion. Brainy and Arnold stared unabashedly at Gerald as he hung on that last word.

"Except…what?" Arnold echoed, eyes becoming wide. Oh boy, why do I have a feeling that this is it?

Gerald gritted his teeth, and squirmed, not feeling at all like his natural cool. "I..may have.. said.." Man, was this hard to say..

"Spit it out!" Brainy growled, ready to throw his book at him.

"Iluvyou."

There was a silence almost so reverent to shame Mass in church.

"Oh my _god_…" Arnold muttered as he put his head in his hands. "And you're sure she heard this?"

"There's a little chance that she might've.." Gerald winced at Arnold's groan.

Brainy smirked. "Hey, nice going, Ger."

"Hey, shut up, Brainy."

"Bunny slippers," he said tauntingly and Gerald glared.

"What are you, trying to blackmail me?"

There was a big laugh. "Trust me, it takes an idiot to blackmail you. Look at you, did you even mean what you said to her?"

That stopped Gerald. His scowl melted and he looked away, thinking to himself.

To get things straight, you'll hate him right about now. You know guys… they say things they don't mean in order to get what they want. It's a bad habit some people (not just guys) have. In Gerald's case, it's a nasty habit he couldn't break, especially since it came so naturally to him.

When he went out with a girl and things got a little too heated, at the end to make the girls feel better, he said I love you. What's so wrong with that? was his reasoning. The girls don't feel as dirty for submitting and breaking a taboo cultural rule and he gets away with it.

Alright, alright, he's a jerk. He knows that.

He's a playboy too. He knows that.

He uses girls in order to get what he wants? Yeah, so what's new? What makes him so different from any other guy? Seriously. This was the reality of the situation; Gerald was no hero, no knight in shining armor, no prince.

But that didn't mean he didn't feel bad when girls came crying to him, when he broke their hearts. He just didn't want commitments, he didn't want relationships… he didn't want to be attached and hurt so easily like these girls. He saw guys who were weak enough to get hurt, to get their hearts crushed by soulless girls that mirrored Gerald.

He didn't want to be that pathetic guy crying by his locker, hugging an old sweater, mooning over pictures. He didn't want to be controlled by his feelings. He didn't want to get lost and lose himself, to feel like he'll never find himself again when he was in the gutter used up by some ungrateful bitch.

It was like the law of the jungle modified for high school. Use or be used.

It was ugly, you could hate him for it, but it was reality. Some people out there who are disgusted with his behavior are only disgusted because that quality is the one they hate the most in themselves.

But he used I love you with a girl that was like paper, so easily crumpled up and torn. "I…"

"You didn't, did you?" Brainy looked unforgiving, frowning at Gerald. Arnold gave a sad sigh. "Back off, Brainy, willya?" He sat a little closer to Gerald. Unlike Brainy, Arnold knew all too well about his friend's bedroom activities and how he treated the opposite sex. He schmoozed them, used them, and then, dumped them. Arnold didn't like it, but it wasn't his life. Besides, almost every other guy (and girl) _did_ do the same thing Gerald was doing.

That's probably why he was so angry that Gerald got to Phoebe. Phoebe wasn't like a Trenesha or a Sally or even a Jennifer. Phoebe was Phoebe…someone they've known since they were kids. Phoebe…well…she was kinda off-limits in Arnold's mind. Not to mention she was so easily hurt. Gerald could be pretty sweet in his tactics in getting rid of girls that he didn't want around, but even the sweetest tongue had a razor side to it.

"Look, Gerald.. we've known each other since forever, right?" Arnold put a hand on his friend's back. Gerald hadn't looked up from the carpet yet, starting to feel really douchy for doing that to Phoebe. It wasn't like he was thinking when he said it, it was habit. Habit. He..he couldn't help it.

"Yeah, man.."

"We always tell each other everything without worrying about it, right?"

"Yeah…" He still hadn't looked up.

"Now I believe you that you didn't mean to go after Phoebe… but that doesn't change the fact that something happened and now she's off who knows where… and maybe she's thinking that you love her. When you and I know you don't."

Gerald looked up, a little desperate. "I wasn't thinking when I said it, Arnold. It just came out and-and I fell asleep, I woke up alone, I mean Christ, it's a bad habit, I know b-"

"Yeah, man…I know. Trust me, man, I know." Arnold sighed and continued to pat his friend. "Relax, Gerald. We're gonna call up her parents and then go look for her. In the mean time, don't beat yourself up over this. Accidents happen. Now," he added, "that doesn't mean I'm pissed because it's_ Phoebe_. But it was an accident." He stuck his fist at Gerald. "And we're gonna fix it, right?"

Gerald looked at the fist, Arnold's speech barely having an effect on him. He unenthusiastically stuck his fist and reluctantly thumbshook. "Right," he muttered. Right. Fixing something like this.

You didn't even mean it…did you?

He closed his eyes and imagined her soon to be hurt face when she realized the truth and his own heart ached for the first time in a long time. He'd do anything but let her cry again… but it couldn't be prevented. Not this time.

He turned around and suddenly punched the wall. Brainy jumped in surprise while Arnold watched him, warily unused to this anger.

"God so help me, I'm never going to say it again," Gerald whispered. "Never, never."

Helga was controlled by love.

But not just any love, no… it was an addiction to dreaming, to wishing. It was the poison to the reality which she had grown up with. It was her fairy land, her imaginary world. It was her everything.

And that must explain why she could never give it up… for anyone.

Even Arnold.

She was a big fan of chocolate. Now, it was apparent from her binges of childhood, but PMS and sad movies had brought the flow of addiction even harder. And now this new angst. She bit into a chocolate bar and stared at the scars on her wrist.

Did she feel this way anymore? What was she supposed to feel?

To Brainy, to Arnold, to hell, even _Fatboy_?

It was beginning to get ridiculous. She traced her scars, perversely enjoying the bumping healed skin against her fingertips. Oh god, those days. Those days when she would let the music blare and she wouldn't think and just wake up so much better after the hurt was washed away.

It was moments when she felt so alone and so isolated that tears came out and when tears came out, blood came out. And so on and so forth, and soon she became sucked into this nightmare.

Over love. Or rather…want of love.

What was she thinking all those years? She put a hand through her hair. Was her destiny really decided the moment she met him? Or was she as desperate as ever to find someone, anyone…who understood her. Just the way she was?

She pushed and pushed and pushed because she didn't like the thought of that… the reality of that. Only the dream. That's why she bullied, that's why she screamed, and that's why she hated and was bitter. Because she pretended to wish for the reality but loved the fantasy so much more.

Writing poetry was a light projection that showed to herself how devoted she was, that proved that she was in love, that someday he'd notice and then that'd be that. Destiny would take it from there. Pink pretty little princess fantasy. Happily ever after. 2.5 kids, a dog, white picket fence with a house in the suburbs. Romantic honeymoon, waking up to him holding her in his sleep. And kisses. Warm, warm, soft kisses.

She closed her eyes to keep the tears in. God, she remembered spending hours thinking about what his lips were like against hers. It was so difficult to remember years after. She never got those psychotic opportunities she did when she was a kid at P.S. 118. Oh, those were great times. Unhappy at most…but she didn't have to worry as much about social taboos, have to construct herself around high school values.

Heh, instead, the elementary ones she should've had the courage to break. If she had made one move, there wouldn't be such a mess at all. It was all her fault. She took a vicious bite out of the chocolate bar. She always felt like the idiot in the end, surprisingly. If she had just thrown caution to the wind and gave her heart openly to him, it all would've ended so much differently.

Maybe he would've said no… but at least she would know for sure. At least she would move on. And give a chance to other men who she knew loved her. "Brainy," she half smiled. It was so weird, this bubbling attraction to her rescuer. She wanted the same things she fantasized with Arnold.. but she wasn't so afraid because…it was Brainy. He knew her. He saved her. He watched her in silence like some guardian angel (or when she really thought about it, a really desperate stalker.)

But still…she knew for sure he loved her knowing her faults. Loved her for who she was no matter what.

And wasn't that what she had wanted always? Just that…and maybe not Arnold?

Her scars, she reflected looking upon them again, almost looked like ropes that had been tattooed onto her skin. They held her down, those razors, those fears, those tears… from making a decision she regretted everyday not making.

And maybe looking at these scars, these ropes, with new eyes…is a new chance?

She laughed to herself. Bizarre. What was she thinking? Ropes, scars.. the only mistake involved with them was making them not deep enough. She finished her chocolate and got up.

But as she walked a part of her couldn't help but still cry over memories she mulled over. Helga was controlled by love, whether it truly be want for or desire to lose. Helga was controlled by a dream…something she didn't want to lose, just yet.

To be Continued!

Ahh, late again. Buuut, high quality chapter (woots to self). I appreciate all the reviews. They really surprised me though. They still kept comin even after like..two or three months after the last update. Oo it was so bizarre to me. I really liked how some of you noticed the psychological aspect of the latter chapters. I'm really trying to go all Freud here. - Feel free to point out glitches or give psych 101 tips or insights. I just love that stuff.

-Bunni Girl


	16. Dis'Similarities

Disclaimer: Don't own it. Shut up. Berlin, however, is original (with no speaking parts, aw!) 

Fanfic Summary: Helga snaps after she sees various things in her life go wrong, grades, family, friends, and her love. She sees the only way out after one night. Will someone save her before it was too late?

Chapter Summary: Yet another interlude? This is more introspective into some of the characters we've peeked at before.

Shout out: Thanks to all who've kept this fanfic in mind even though I haven't updated in a ridiculous amount of time. Boo to those who said this fanfic sucks (shows middle finger). Uh, also, a person told me recently that whenever they think of suicide, they think of me (or this story). Uhhh, thanks?

* * *

**Dreams of Blue Skies**

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Dis/Similarities**

* * *

Rhonda Wellington Lloyd was, if anything, a bit _too _bull-headed for her own good. It was a Lloyd habit, as if embedded into their very genetic code. Her father refused to give up his cigars even when he could barely breathe; her mother refused to give up her drinks; and her sister refused to live. Rhonda refused to forget. 

Putting a cool glass to her forehead, Rhonda put a large shoebox on her lap. It was weighty, once belonging to her father's. Heavens to god, lest a Lloyd girl have feet as huge as he did! But instead was the real treasure - no, not expensive leather shoes once imported from Italy. No, it held something a great deal more precious and priceless. Her sister.

You see, Rhonda and Helga were parallels - two lines simultaneously facing and turning away from each other. It was a symbolic tryst of trust and betrayal - of their friendship and not friendship, as well as their flirtations with death. That was another thing that bonded the two young girls.

In high school, the inevitable truth was that they drifted apart. Her P.S. 118 crew, that is. Because of petty politics, she had become the school princess: destined for Homecoming Queen, Best-Dressed in the yearbook, and Cancun spring breaks.

Arnold was the boy to drift from social group to social groups, universally liked no matter where he went; Gerald, the smooth talker and campus Casanova. Phoebe was the Brain; Harold the fat dumb jock. And Helga was the bully. **_Their_** Bully.

Rhonda took the glass from her forehead to her lips. Correction: _was_ the bully until she changed.

It was a slow change - not one that sprung overnight to surprise them all. Rhonda herself felt compelled due to politicks to comment on her black wardrobe and her increasing antisocial behavior (even more so than before!)

Yes, Rhonda sneered with the rest of them - her glittering and rich entourage. She laughed at the concept: Helga, proud and stubborn Helga, was now their resident Goth girl. With a scowl, a dark sarcastic outlook on life - she was a natural. She was their perfect outcast to pick on, to torment... to focus on so that the empty vacuum that was their lives wouldn't plague their nightmares anymore.

She was their ultimate distraction.

Rhonda Lloyd was no stranger to how things really were. High school was simply the training ground for real life - her life that is. Where butt kissing, being cutthroat, and selfishness only took you to the limit and beyond. This was her world. It was all she knew: fancy parties, designer gowns, being waited on hand and foot.

There was no pain - only apathy to the idea.

The only reason she even resorted to being sent to public school was because of the Shame her family had endured because of her sister. That was the extent to which they acknowledged her: the Shame.

Her headache, once throbbing, was now soothed from the chill on her brow and the liquor to quell the beast. She never used to drink - not so much. But drowning in vodka seemed so much preferable than drowning in the pool - they both escaped from her problems. She eyed the pool from the window, blue and sweet and charming. Looks were so deceiving.

Opening the box, inside was a litter of photos. On the top was a family portrait, wrinkled and tattered - as if torn and then taped together. There was a smiling father, a smiling mother, a smiling young girl. To the side, an teenaged daughter had her lips set wide in the most uncomfortable grin - her eyes were dark and glimmering with displeasure. The hands of the father and mother had settled on the young girl's shoulder; the teenager seemed cast aside, forgotten even to the photographer.

Her name was Berlin - crumbling like the wall; uncertain and apprehensive with a strong exterior. She was born into the wrong sort of life from the start, Rhonda was sure. She should've been in a freer world, where the restrictions of her high society would've been nonexistent or some faraway dream.

Not even Nadine knew about her. She was such a well-known secret - one that was uttered in gossip of the upper crust, but no one in her life outside of those grand parties and rich idiots knew of her sister. And that's how she wanted it. She didn't care for any false sympathy that might be dished out onto her. She knew better than that. Rhonda was **no one's** fool.

She touched the photograph, playing with the bent corners.

Her family was always ashamed at having such a daughter - and were so happy when Rhonda came along, determined to mold this one, this child, into the epitome of their perfection; to complement them in their every move. Like stripes on a tiger, Berlin was the mangy spot on the fur.

The pictures of her were so mixed. There was always a smile on her face, always - but such sadness in her eyes. She held up a photograph of her sister looking away from the camera, caught in a fit of wistfulness. Such a girl that would have rather read books than don Gucci - would rather point out hypocrisy than join in on the "fun." Such hatred was bestowed on her until she became brittle and bitter, ready to break down.

And then one morning, she did. When Rhonda was seven, Berlin, her cherished wall of strength, killed herself.

Rhonda sighed. How she wished things could've been so different.

But then again... She looked at the yearbook at her side, once discarded and forgotten. She stroked the picture of a scowling girl. That could be said about so many other things as well.

"Oh Helga," Rhonda sighed, putting her drink down. "If only you knew.." she looked out the window at the pool. Just how much my sister and I are alike... just how much you and I... are alike.

Rhonda and Helga indeed were parallels - similarity ran deep between the two for pain and for pleasure.

And for death.

---------------------------------

Gerald was Arnold's black carbon copy.

"Awww maaaaan," Gerald groaned as he tried to make Arnold's shirt work for him. He was not diggin' this style. Don't get Gerald wrong. Arnold was his soul brother, his boy that he'd been through thick and thin with. But MAN, did he have BAD taste in clothing.

Plaid so was not Gerald.

He fingered the collar like it was burning into his skin. From the feel of the fabric, it might as well have. "Maaaaan." He complained.

Arnold rolled his eyes, ignoring him and gritting his teeth. They were wasting precious time because Gerald wanted to be a prissy girl and look over his reflection in windows. The clock was ticking. Phoebe could be anywhere - from the library to the gutter. Arnold rubbed his temples - first Helga, and now this Gerald and Phoebe situation. God, this was getting on his nerves. Normal 17 year-olds did NOT go through this... did they?

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Brainy looked bemused at the situation - yet even Arnold could tell that the boy was worried about the little Asian girl.

Okay, okay, time to focus. The plan was: track Phoebe down, make sure she's safe, clear up the mess that Gerald made, hope everything's okay afterwards... and go back to looking at the phone.

But so far as he looked over the hundreds of people out in the brisk weather, that plan was not working at all to their advantage. They were soon discovering how hard it was to find one person, one tiny small Asian girl, in an ocean of faces.

And in the back of his head, he couldn't help guiltily thinking: was **she** calling him?

Arnold tapped his foot, becoming thoroughly annoyed with his soon-to-be-formerly-living best friend.

"Ger-_ald_." He groaned. Ugh. Migraine. Why now?

"Dude."

"_Dude_." Impatience and intolerance.

"**DUDE**." Exasperated hands motioned over the outfit.

"..Dude." No sympathy.

A sigh. "Dude."

He did _NOT_ want Phoebe to see him in this. Then again, he looked himself over in a shop's window. It might be enough to cancel the heartbreak he caused if she just laughed at his effeminine smoothness.

He sighed again. "Okay, I'm ready." But the truth was that Gerald looked more ready to be socially executed from the high school food chain than to find Phoebe. Arnold noticed this with displeasure. How could his friend be so selfish? What had happened to the old Gerald? The one that WOULDN'T use his friend as a piece of ass?

"FINALLY." Both boys yelled, before looking each other over with some sort of approval. this was short lived and they both looked away, silently disliking each other once more. Gerald couldn't help but look at himself one last time in the mirror, sighing VERY dejectedly.

"Du-" He stopped at the sight of the death glares and gave up. He couldn't win. He _just **couldn't**_ win.

"I'm coming, I'm coming! Keep your damn pants on." To himself, "I fucking hate plaid. It doesn't work for me, never has worked for me, never WILL work for me..." He mumbled as he shook his head as he stormed away from the two. "NEVER! Maaaan," he continued to talk to himself as he walked down the street. Suddenly he yelled to no one in particular: "Do you know how LONG it took me to make a reputation of being the Romeo of Hillwood High?!" He didn't exactly care WHO stared after him on the sidewalk.

Brainy looked after him. "Is he serious?"

It was Arnold's turn to sigh. "Yes."

"Has he-"

"No, it's just more recently pronounced."

"Huh. What-"

"Soul Brother magazines."

"Hmmm. This explains a lot."

"Yuu-uup."

--------------------------

Helga looked down at her friend and put a hand on her forehead. She felt feverish, but not as bad as before. She couldn't figure out for the life of _Criminey_ why Phoebe was wandering around blind, half-naked, and barefoot. The first thing that rang in her head was: RAPE. Her hand curled up into a knowledgeable fist. She would hurt those that hurt her friend.

Phoebe stirred and opened her eyes, surprised to see the blurry vision.

"Where'mglasses?" she mumbled, looking around, trying to focus on the figure above her. A lot of yellow and pink fuzz. For a minute, she thought she died and went to banana-strawberry heaven.

"Hell if I know." The words were harsh but the tone was gentle.

"Helga?" God, her head still hurt. Why did it hurt? Oh god, the pain. "What are you doing here?" She noticed more and more that this was not her native habitat.

"I could say the same for you, Pheebs." A hand on her forehead. Oh, that felt nice. So nice and cool and- Phoebe sighed, not bothering to open her eyes or look around. Slipping in and out of consciousness for the past few hours had done a number on her. She wasn't sure what was real or what wasn't.

"I had a dream about you," she said. Helga's ears pricked up. She looked down with interest at the girl.

"Oh really?" She got a moist rag and put it to her friend's burning skin. She smiled at the relief it gave to Phoebe and humored her, "What about?"

"I dreamt you shot yourself in the head." Pause. Helga's hand didn't move from Phoebe's cheek but her whole body seemed to want to shake. "I dreamt it was all my fault, dreamt you were dying, and that it was all my fault. And that I did so many horrible things." Helga's eyes watered and she held back a sob.

"Why would you think something like that, you big dummy?" She tried to keep her voice stable. Tried to keep it normal.

"I don't know.. I deserve it, I guess." Phoebe's head tilted away from the rag and she shifted to be on her side, curling in a semi-fetal position. "I needed to be punished for so many things I've done." She thought about Gerald and wondered if that was a dream too. "I dreamt I..." She paused, wondering if she should say and then chastised herself from holding back from her friend. "I slept with Gerald. I let myself be a whore, Helga," Phoebe started to cry into the soft pillow. "Everything my family said I'd be, I became in this-this..nightmare!"

Warm arms enveloped Phoebe's hot body, rocking her back and forth. Phoebe dug her face into Helga's neck as her friend shushed her. "It's gonna be okay, Pheebs. It's gonna be okay," Helga repeated into her friend's hair, not letting the little girl see the anger in her eyes. Oh, how she wanted to fling herself on this very bed and cry with her friend, just to let the world dissolve. God knows she hasn't cried since she woke up from her own dreams.

"I'm so sorry, Helga," she sobbed. "I'm so, so, so sorry.."

"You don't have to be sorry for anything, just go to sleep," she cradled her, trying not to alarm the girl with her own tears falling down. "Just go to sleep. Please go to sleep."

But Phoebe didn't go to sleep - she only cried more and more until there were no more tears left, just the dry sobs choking out of her throat and the raw emotion that spilled out. Helga simply held onto the girl like there was no tomorrow, feeling so much guilt and misplaced anger at the world - if anything, Helga deserved this fate Phoebe suffered; Phoebe was so good and so kind, so passive - without so much as a single bone in her body to put any intentional hurt on any soul.

Helga whereas... has created **so much** destruction in her selfishness. She hated herself so much then, hated herself for only thinking herself while her best friend, the closest thing she could associate to a real sister, blamed herself for what Helga did. Helga looked away from the young girl and to her window at the street. All she did was think of herself, while Phoebe thought of others. Like Arnold. She looked down at the now-sleeping Phoebe, plagued by horrible guilt-ridden nightmares and Helga closed her eyes in pain.

Where did _she_ get off being so self-righteous lately? She leaned against the wall and stared at the sky. What was the _point_ in her living? What was the real purpose if all she did was create pain in others?

No, she opened her eyes. That was the line of thinking that made this mess. That made Phoebe sick and damaged, that possibly pushed her away from Arnold and everyone that cared about her.

Pfft, who cared about her? She doubted that Arnold even cared about her, let alone feel any emotion besides being worried. Rhonda... god, why did she even send Rhonda that letter? How pathetic was she?

But even as Helga beat herself up for that, she couldn't deny the connection between her and Rhonda, mysterious as it was. There was something Helga would catch in her eyes, something deep and tormented - something she only saw when she looked in the mirror, deep into her blue eyes. But she often pushed it aside - easily smushed by the fact that Rhonda was the elite of high school and regularly made fun of Helga behind her back... and a lot of times, right in front of her face.

Helga scowled, remembering the cruel words often played out of The Princess's precious mouth and how much they contributed to her own individual pain. Maybe that's why she sent the letter - to guilt that **_bitch_**.

Yeah... that was probably why. There was no connection between her and Helga - there was no way they could ever be anything alike.

She looked down at Phoebe and mused over the delicate girl's words. She didn't want to leave her side and leave her all by herself, but she felt compelled to be away from this constant reminder of the bruise she made on lives around her, however unimportant she felt she was to the grand design.

She did know that someone would pay today for whatever pain they inflicted on her friend. Helga darkly looked out the window, wanting to crush the moon from lighting the night and giving hope to hopeless dreamers.

There were no dreams, Helga thought. Just nightmares. She stroked Phoebe's hair as the girl tensed, shaking from some invisible monster in her dream.

In the end, there was no hope and no dreams - no fantasies come true, no prince in shining armor...

In the end, there was a _hole_.

And that hole was pain enveloped by more pain.

This much Helga knew by now, as her eyes clouded with doubt and misery - wondering if life was such a precious gift, then why did she want to take it for granted so badly?

* * *

To be continued..

* * *

**Author's note:** A bit of a useless chapter in my opinion, without much action, which is probably the hugest let down to those who have waited YEARS for this.. but I promise that I'll be making regular updates from now on (for reals this time!) I'll even post my update-schedule on my bio so those who are _**REALLY**_ obsessed can check it out and incessantly bug me about it. 

Also, I'm sorry if I made Gerald seem to be a jerk - I was trying to create some comic relief. And sorry again if there are errors or if it seems emotionally incomplete. Again, useless chapter in my opinion, but I needed to update after such a long time.

The end is eminent for this story, but now that I'm really looking into it, it doesn't look like it can be wrapped up in the next few chapters. But most likely within a month it'll be finished.

Also, something I noticed: it started off very Helga-centric, but I've since discovered the story's not about Helga: it's about the aftermath of what Helga's selfish actions were on the people that cared about her, hence all the musings of Rhonda, Arnold, and Phoebe. I wanted to paint a few characters with different brushes so that we could see them in a different perspective.

Next chapter, expect a confrontation between several characters, as well as a possible death, but who?

Til next time!

-Bunni Girl


	17. The Elephant in the Room

Disclaimer: Don't own it. Shut up.

Fanfic Summary: Helga snaps after she sees various things in her life go wrong, grades, family, friends, and her love. She sees the only way out after one night. Will someone save her before it was too late?

Chapter Summary: Several confrontations between characters - as well as someone possibly... dying? Incredibly juicy chapter, if I do say so myself.

Shout out: Thank you to **KoiKitten** for her lovely review (I know, I can hardly believe I updated myself!); **Acosta Perez Jose Ramiro** (thanks for your comments on the boys' scene and Rhonda's scene in the last one.. Rhonda's was my gem!); **Hellerick Ferlibay** (I knew it was one or the other, sorry for the mix-up - and the only scene I considered to be of value was really Rhonda's scene when she thinks about her sister and Helga - no real or fake modesty here, just shame!);** Flower Powerer** (Yes! I'm back! Whoo! Weird coincidence...); **KlausSn** (keep your insightful ideas to yourself, buster!...kidding!); **Evelyn Knight** (It would be a logical step, but it'll come way later!); **AnimeMiko15 **(I KNOW! End of times when BG updates!); **LadyBern** (Why thank you for your lovely review! And I apologize again for going on in that reply, I don't know..sometimes I think I'm locked up too much in my box.)

Dedicated: For Phoebe - you broke your way into my heart and I felt sorry for you more than I have for anyone else in my life... including myself.

* * *

Dreams of Blue Skies

Chapter Sixteen

**The Elephant in the Room**

* * *

I need a stiff drink, she thought as she rummaged through the cabinets, not caring if she woke the entire house up. One door after another proved her quest to be fruitless. 

"God, why did Miriam pick NOW to quit drinking?" Helga said, frustrated.

Admittedly though, she was a little surprised when Miriam drained all of her bottles and even laughed when her mother ripped up all of her smoothie packets. Perhaps she even felt a bit of hope shine through her heart... but ever the cynic, Helga was just _waiting_ for the relapse - til the fat lady sings, she scoffed. That's when her mother would quit drinking!

Finally, she gave up and grabbed her coat - determined to get liquor one way or another, even if it killed her.

"Where you going?"

Helga put her arm into the sleeve of her trench coat, not even facing her sister. Olga looked tired, with small bags under her eyes. She looked years older than she should've been.

"Out."

"...Care if I come with?" Her voice was so small, yet contained so much hope in it, like a bowl overflowing with pristine water.

Helga paused and then shrugged, grabbing her keys. Olga smiled and delicately put on her own jacket and shoes. And then the two silent sisters embarked outside, into the bruising cold. The only sounds between them were the crunching of their shoes in the ice. Olga let out shuddering breaths, but knew this was nothing compared to the old she faced in the Arctic teaching those children. She gave a small smile. It was Helga's idea to put her as much distance as possible between the two sisters. Clever little girl, Olga thought - proud and dismayed all at once. "Was I that horrible, Helga?"

"Eh?" Helga surfaced from her own thoughts and looked at her sister.

"Come on. Was I_ that_ bad?"

"..."

Olga looked disappointed. "You know, I've been thinking about what you've been saying.."

"Oh please," Helga muttered. "_**I knew it!**_ I knew if I let you walk with me, it was just gonna be this big apologetic spiel.. Criminey, can't a girl just get a fucking drink?"

"Helga! You're only seventeen!"

Helga rolled her eyes. She didn't want to say that she had been drinking since she was thirteen and could easily tell apart different brands of vodka by taste alone. Like mother, like daughter, she ironically thought. "Whatever. Like _you_ care, _Ol_ga."

Olga stopped walking and looked at the girl. "I do care, Helga."

"My ass you care," Helga said, continuing to walk, brushing rudely past the woman she didn't consider family. Olga grabbed Helga's arm with a stronger grip than either expected.

"You listen to me," Olga said in a low voice. Helga's eyes slightly widened. "Do you even know how I felt when I was called out of class - how terrified I was that you were dead?" With no response, Olga shook Helga mildly. "Do you?" She continued, tightening her hold. "You don't even realize how many people love you, do you? What would I do if-" she broke away, trying to hold back a sob. She turned, ashamed of her tears, not wanting Helga to see the hurt on her face.

"You're so selfish sometimes," Olga said, looking up from her hands. Helga almost expected to see the mascara smear but was surprised to find that.. all that was there was Olga's red eyes, buckets of blue tears. "All you ever do is wallow in your fucking self-pity and refuse to see how we'd be lost without you." And then Olga turned on her heel and walked away, as it began to lightly snow.

Helga stared off after her, completely speechless, before pursing her lips together and shoving her hands into her pockets, walking after her.

She grabbed her sister's elbow. "Hold on." Olga stopped.

"What?"

"...I've never heard you use the 'f' word before.."

Olga looked at Helga incredulously before spitting out laughter. "You what?" Helga started to laugh too.

"I never thought you'd have it in you to cuss, let alone... _**yell **_at me like that."

"I know. I'm sorry.. you just piss me off too much sometimes."

"_**I**_ piss you off? ME? Talk about absolute IRONY!" Helga threw her hands up in the air. "Imagine me, Helga G. Pataki, pissing YOU of all people off." Helga failed to mention how many times_** she**_ got frustrated with OLGA.

Olga smiled. "Well.. we're sisters. We're supposed to make each other nuts."

"Mission accomplished."

Olga held out her hand, rubbing her face with the other one. The cold threatened to turn her tear-stained eyelashes into mini-icicles, and she shivered under the lamp light. Helga looked down at the offering, first with suspicion then with apprehension. How could she trust this woman?

How could she ignore years of history? Years of being ignored, tortured unbeknownst to this ignorant girl? How she had hated her for so long, despised her very essence and longed to be rid of the thing called "Olga" from her life.

There was a time not too long ago when Helga even took Olga's pictures and drew black holes over her eyes. A time when she would've laughed with joy if Olga died. But then, when Helga really thought about it... she wouldn't be happy if Olga died. No, she would be happy if she died instead.

Olga's cutting remarks about her self-pity and her selfishness brought her back to when she looked over Phoebe, feeling such anguish at causing the young girl so much pain. As much as she hated to admit it, Olga was right. She _was_ being selfish, only thinking about herself and twisting the situation around for her own cruel benefit. Had she been only doing this to feel wanted?

She looked at Olga who had followed her into the night. Who was she? Who was she really underneath that mask of perfection? She doubted Olga was really the Olga she knew... this person was someone else. Someone different. Someone Helga didn't know at all - but could relate to, strangely enough.

"I'm sorry," Olga said. Helga withdrew from her thoughts and focused on Olga with what felt like the first time in a long time - she actually saw her. Olga smiled again. "I'm sorry for being there but not being there.. for overshadowing you... and overlooking you.. and making others overlook you as well."

Helga narrowed her eyes. Who was she? She suddenly noticed that Olga stopped calling her "baby sister" a while ago.

"I may not be the best sister in the world, Helga..." Olga continued. "I have flaws like everyone else." Hold the phone, Helga thought. Olga was admitting WILLINGLY without any drugs that she wasn't perfect? Too good to be true! "But I love you. I just wanted you to know that."

She started to pull back her hand when Helga grabbed it suddenly, tightening her hand around hers. Helga looked away.

"Let's go back home," she said. "You're freezing."

Olga's expression softened. "Oh Helga-"

"Shove it," she cut off Olga mildly. She dragged her sister behind her, trudging past whatever person in her path, and mumbled, "Don't get all mushy on me..."

Helga had in a way accepted her sister's love - in a symbolic gesture that represented that Helga would try to accept that she was wanted on this earth - whether she liked it or not.

-----------------------------------------

The second time Phoebe was awake she became more aware of where she was. It wasn't any sort of strawberry-banana heaven - it was Helga's room.

She looked down beside her and saw Helga sleeping on the floor, snoring lightly. She couldn't help but smile and then stopped, wincing at the headache she had. Feeling hot and cold at the same time, she decided not to get up from the bed.

Phoebe inspected her body, surprised that she was dressed in Helga's old elementary clothes. Arching her eyebrow, she reasoned that since she barely grew since the fourth grade, maybe it was just as well. Still, why did she keep these clothes after all these years?

She moved her hands up to where glasses should've been and blinked. Where were her glasses?

Why was she here?

And where were her OWN clothes?

Hell, Phoebe thought, where were her SHOES?

_Great. Just great. I'm stranded at Helga's without clothes, shoes, and my glasses. What the hell happened last night?_

And then it came back to her like a flood: Helga's attempt at suicide, her stint at the hospital, the letter she sent, the crushing disappointment in herself as a friend... and Gerald.

She gave herself to him. She gave the _only_ thing she could offer to any man, to any man that she loved. It was true, she did have a crush on him throughout high school... but she never even had a boyfriend. Her first kiss was a clumsy result of a feel in seventh grade and that was the extent of her sexual abilities.

Well, _**was**_ the extent.

She put her head in her hands, shaking it. She started to moan. "Oh, what did I do?"

"I don't know," a yawn. "What _**did**_ you do?"

She gave a start, yelping as she grabbed the covers to wrap around herself. A sleepy yet annoyed Helga glared up at her.

"Don't make so much noise, you'll wake everyone up..." Helga seemed to give this some thought as she raised herself up on her elbows. "Never mind, make as much noise as you want." She laid down and looked at Phoebe.

Phoebe on the other hand twisted nervously on her best friend's bed. "I'm sorry," she squeaked. "I didn't mean to. You just surprised me, that's all!"

A snort. "Yeah, well, _I'm_ not the one talking to myself."

Phoebe grew silent, not allowing to let Helga know how close she hit to a nerve. "Sorry."

A bit of silence before Helga revived the conversation. "So, Pheebs.. is it true?"

"Is what true?" Phoebe was currently trying to bury herself underneath the blankets, hoping that if she melted underneath the warmth, she wouldn't exist anymore.

"Did you... you know..." Helga seemed uncomfortable. Phoebe could almost feel her shifting around as she juggled her words. "...with Geraldo."

"OH GOD!" Phoebe cried as she tried to bury herself more. Why her? When did she say that? God, she was losing track of herself... Why did she have to tell Helga? The good lord couldn't even begin to describe not only how mortified she was, but the level of shame she felt as well. "Nonononononono..."

Phoebe felt Helga's weight on the bed, sitting beside her. "You know Pheebs, you're gonna have to come out sooner or later."

"...Can't I pick later?"

"Out. Now."

A large groan as the blankets revealed her disheveled hair and blinking small eyes. "Do I haveta?" Helga frowned.

"Pheebs, I know you're sick.. but I have to know what happened to you."

Phoebe shot her a look of hatred, clutching the blankets close to her as if she was Scrooge and they were gold. "Why do _you_ care all of a sudden?"

Ouch. Very, very ouch. Phoebe covered her mouth, amazed at what she said. Helga suddenly looked a lot heavier as she slouched, running her hand through her hair, wincing as she went over her wound. Phoebe strained her eyes but could see the white padding still attached to her friend's head and felt cruel - sick and unusual, like a bad punishment. She decided to change the subject.

"Why am I dressed in your old clothes?"

"Why did you sleep with Gerald?"

She blushed, a little upset and yet comforted with the abrasiveness of her old friend. "I asked first," she insisted. Helga smiled and rolled her eyes.

"Alright. Let's just say, getting new clothes was hard enough sooo.. I had to be a little creative and resourceful." She pointed her hand at a box near her closet full of sewing supplies. Helga tried to avoid Phoebe's gaze and bit out, "Don't pity me, Pheebs. It's bad for your health."

Phoebe looked away, feeling the all-too-familiar sadness come over her. What had Helga gone through that she often left unvoiced? Were they even friends anymore? What were they? Friends, acquaintances, strangers? What was Phoebe expecting from her after all this time? Helga had withdrew into this... this _shell _- while everyone else eventually grew, she was stunted, still haunted by her past - whatever past she had. Phoebe didn't know anything.. she barely_ tried_ to know anything. She had let it settle on the surface, refusing to touch it. It was the elephant in the room that no one wanted to speak of. She failed as a friend and failed Helga because of that - because of her fears.

Phoebe bit her lip, looking at the blurry window, blinking away the tears. What was she crying for? Herself or Helga? Or was it because, when there used to be something akin to trust between them... now it was nonexistent. If anything, she would have to make the first jump. Helga may come off as brave... but Phoebe knew better than anyone just how scared she really was: Helga would never trust anyone unless they stuck their necks out first.

So she did. "Yes."

"Yes, what?" Helga was now absorbed in the ceiling and the interesting patterns it beheld.

"I did. I slept with... you know." She struggled with the reality. Admitting it was the first step though.

"Uh huh... why?"

"I... was wondering that myself, actually."

Helga gave an amused look, relaxing in front of the small girl. "Smart move, Brainiac. Sleep with a guy and then figure it out. Real Harvard material." Phoebe normally should've been upset at the teasing... but because it was Helga, she not only forgave it, but welcomed it.

"So... _how_ big was he?"

"HELGA!" Phoebe smacked her friend with a pillow as Helga cackled.

"WHAT? A girl's gotta ask! You HAD to have liked it!"

"I don't really remember it actually."

"Really? He must've been something. Every girl at school is always 'Gerald' this and 'Gerald' that.." She failed to notice Phoebe's crestfallen face.

"Shut up, Helga," Phoebe said quietly. Helga noticed the drastic change of tone. Phoebe played with her hands, feeling hot and uncomfortable. "I... I gave my... to him." She stopped, breaths hitching. Helga rolled her eyes as she comforted her friend. God, what a roller coaster of emotions. But looking at the crying girl she felt a sense of protectiveness come over and embraced Phoebe.

"It's okay, Pheebs.. it's okay.."

"Why did I do that? Why did I..." She was silent for a moment. "He told me he loved me. It was right after you... and then I couldn't stop crying and he was holding me, making me feel so much better than I have in such a long time.." she hiccupped. "God, Helga.. you don't even know how it felt to be wanted like that. For so long, just this reject that no one wants.. and then someone opens their arms to you and you just.." she bawled the rest into Helga's shirt.

Helga held a stony gaze. "No, Pheebs," she said quietly, knowing the girl couldn't hear her over her own sobs. "I _do_ know how it feels to not be wanted." And held her tighter, vowing to kill Gerald for the pain he caused.

"He doesn't love me, Helga... does he?" She let a large wail, knowing the answer. "Why would he? Not when I'm such a worthless whore.." _Like mother, like daughter_, the voice repeated in her head. Shut up, Phoebe said, clutching harder onto Helga as if the girl could protect her from inside her head. Stop it, stop it, stop it, and then blinked as she saw the blurry Helga in her line of sight.

"**_Phoebe!_**" She was yelling as she shook her.

"What?" she said. Suddenly she felt light as air, like she was falling. God, what was this feeling? This spiraling feeling - like Helga was at the end of the tunnel and Phoebe was at the beginning, straining to hear her.

"Don't ever say that!" Phoebe looked numb as she felt the fever overtake her body. "You're not a whore, okay?" Helga was fading in and out as bits of black started to invade her vision. "You never were one and just because of this one thing.. Phoebe? Phoebe! Stay with me!"

And then it was all black.. for Phoebe.

_Like mother, like daughter_, the voice giggled.

-----------------------------------------------

A fist slammed into the wall as familiar sounds of telephone rings and indistinct murmurs sang in the background. Helga gritted her teeth and held her hand. Olga put her hand on her shoulder and didn't flinch when Helga shoved it off.

"Just leave me alone, okay?"

She nodded and walked away cautiously to the vending machines. Helga sat down in a plastic chair, staring at the tiled floor. Not a week out of the hospital and she was back here again. Back here where she had... Helga put her head in the palm of her hand. She didn't know if anything was real when she dreamed.. when she dreamed of that eerie time in that dark world. The last thing she saw was herself dying, gurgling in her own blood, thanking _her_... for what? So she could come out and live this sadness all over again?

This... sad excuse of a life?

As she waited for a sign that her friend was alright?

Some fucking second chance.

Helga gritted her teeth and remembered how pathetically limp Phoebe went in her arms and how the indifferent the ambulance EMTs looked - so used to tragedies beyond repair that lives were just numbers. Helga was afraid to wonder: did they look that way when they took her away?

What was the point of it all? She grabbed her hair and pulled on it, not caring if the stitches on her head ached. She wanted the pain. She _**welcomed**_ the pain, in fact. The hurt distracted her from losing her best friend, from being so petty and so selfish, from wanting to die all over again simply from guilt. Oh, what had she done? What did she do to her life? Nothing. That's what she did.

Helga did _nothing_.

Regrets were shelved afresh on top of her heart, as she forgot Brainy's words, as she forgot Cheryl's comfort - because it didn't matter. Not when she saw it from the other side how it felt to almost lose someone. She clenched her fists and hated herself all over again with a renewed passion.

She was so stuck in her head that she didn't notice someone walk up, stand in front of her. This person did not tap their foot as they were accustomed to. They did not glare for attention. They were mute, for once, shoes silent as they slid their owner's body beside the angry self-involved girl.

Rhonda sat down beside Helga. The movement roused the beast from her thoughts, and she growled - the sound instantly dying in her throat when she realized who it was.

Rhonda was still. She wasn't dressed stylishly. The only ornaments she used to decorate herself with were simple earrings and bracelets around her wrists. In her hands was a black shoebox with the fancy logo on the top of it. Her eyes were filled with the most extraordinary pain and she struggled very vainly to keep it hidden.

There was a question in Helga's mouth that her tongue couldn't clearly communicate. And before her brain could work out the communication error, Rhonda took the opportunity to speak first.

"I wanted to tell you this before but I couldn't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for," she paused, playing with the box's top. "I just.. I know I did wrong by you," she looked briefly into the other girl's eyes. "And I know. I know nothing, not ever, could _ever_ make it up to you. I'm scum. I'll always be scum." For a minute she had a smile and wanted to add something but decided against it. She grew very somber and drew into herself, shrinking a couple sizes down.

There was a silence and then she continued in a very quiet voice - as if her walls were shaken down to mere rubble. This was the Rhonda she saw - the one locked up in the tower, begging for a rescue.

"My sister died when I was seven. I... I never told anyone." Rhonda's bracelets were shackles once more as she strained to lift the top of the shoe box off. A shaky hand drew out a lonely photograph. "This-this was the last time she took a picture before she..." she trailed off, not knowing how to exactly end that sentence. Not knowing what else to say, she added, "It's my favorite. She never really had a nice smile... but I liked it."

Helga looked from the floor to Rhonda's offering, and took it, regarding the girl in the picture. She was her age, maybe a little younger, and she had long black hair - unkempt and wild. Her eyes were the saddest thing in the picture: captured and dead like a bird in its cage. She looked mad like Ophelia with Hamlet's grief. She looked so beautiful in her last, ugly moment of life.

She looked at Rhonda as if for the first time, trying to piece together the puzzle. Rhonda refused to look at her and stared down the hallway, looking for something. What was she looking for? A _savior_? A way out? She was doomed, she knew that. She knew that she would be chained to a life of eternal purgatory... would end up marrying a man that wouldn't really love her but love her** money**... would end up with children that would have to follow after her in the **same** lifestyle... and she would _die alone_, much like her sister - but perhaps not as tragic and not as within reason.

She felt a touch on her arm and closed her eyes to keep the tears out. Why? _Why _did she want to break down now? It wasn't her time - she didn't have the right to be selfish. **_Who_** was **_she_** after _all _this time to demand for pity, to expect to be understood? She was nothing but a waste of God's time - and perhaps Helga's.

But this reasoning was lost on her as she leaned into Helga and sobbed into her body, letting go of _so much_ sadness she kept in for so many years. She finally allowed to shed a tear for her sister and perhaps - even though it was a lost cause - **herself**. She cried for Phoebe, she cried for Phoebe's family. She cried for her own mother and father - with their perverse delusions on life. She cried for Helga, dear _sweet _contemptuous Helga, who was the visible symptom that _**all**_ their lives were going down the shitter.

She cried until there were no more tears and just choking gasps for _**life**_, any life, but hers.

"Why did she leave me alone?" she wailed, digging her nails into Helga's back - more to hang on than to express her utter rage. "Why did she have to be so selfish and cruel and just.. _die_?" A large sniff. "What gave her the right to leave _me_?"

Helga murmured in her hair, "I don't know, I don't know," and rocked her.

Rhonda closed her eyes and wept for everything in the world and more, feeling better with every tear. "I_ loved_ her. Even when the world hated her and laughed at her... even when my own parents told me not to talk about her anymore after she.. she.." she broke off and cried more. "I was the **_only one_** who appreciated who she was. No one understood her but _**me**_!"

Rhonda only felt the other girl nod.

"Helga," Rhonda looked up at Helga with puffy red eyes and Helga felt a distinct sense of deja vu. Olga and Phoebe... and now Rhonda too. It came as an epiphany. She was their rock. **This** was where she was needed. She gripped Rhonda harder. "Helga," Rhonda repeated. "Please. Please." But neither knew what she was asking, what she wanted... but somehow, Helga understood the need - the need to be wanted and loved, to live a fulfilling life... the need to actually feel life.

"I feel so... empty. So, so empty." Rhonda rested her head, feeling guilty that she cried on this girl's shoulder. "I feel like I'm_ nothing_, nothing at all. When she died, I promised myself I never would let anyone close to my heart again... when she died, she... she took my _heart_, Helga,_ my fucking heart_," Rhonda's voice shook with emotion. "I couldn't _feel_, I couldn't **breathe** when I saw her in her bed, dead. I knew she was unhappy, I knew it.. I just didn't know she was _**that**_ unhappy. I thought _I_ at least made things better but I was wrong, wasn't I? Hah," the laugh was a tortured sound, neither funny or ironic. "I was so wrong to think I could've made a difference." Her breath came out in a vibration. "No one loved her but me... not moma, not papa... it was only _me _and me. And that wasn't enough, was it? It's not enough to have one person love you and the rest of existence spit at you. It's just not enough."

And she looked up at her again. "And.. that's what you went through, isn't it?" Helga's blood ran to chilly temperatures. "You were alone, without a soul in the world to tell you that they loved you - that they cared for you... at least that is... the people that _mattered_."

She didn't say anything. She dared not say one word, in fear of what she would say. What COULD she say to something so pinpointed exactly to how she felt? What was the **point** in living if the people you _want_ to care... don't?

Rhonda took her silence as a "yes" and frowned. "I know I never mattered, not to anyone, not to my sister and not to you, but I care about you, Helga.. I care."

Helga narrowed her eyes. "Criminey, what the hell is wrong with you people? First Phoebe, and now you... of course you matter, of course you're important.. think I'd be listening to you if you weren't?" She held up the photograph. "_She_ thought you were important. She probably thought that it wasn't good for you to see her so sad.. so she decided that she couldn't do it anymore - not that she didn't love you. God dammit," she growled, feeling emotion come over her.

"Why did life have to become so fucking complicated? Why couldn't we stay kids?" Rhonda's eyes watered again at Helga's angry words. "We were so happy..._ I_ was so happy then..." but Helga knew she was never happy. It was just easier then - easier with the fantasies and the dreams that weren't shattered as of yet. She was only seventeen, yet she felt like a thirty year old, ready to give up on life. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair.

"I just wish we could go back then.. we could just..." she didn't finish her sentence and looked exhausted. Rhonda nodded.

"Yeah, you got it right, Pataki."

"Ain't it the truth," she ruefully smiled. "Ain't it the damn truth." Both settled down beside each other, silent as they listened to the hospital buzz; one waited for news and one waited for life.

-------------------------------

"Well, here we are," Brainy said, looking around. He felt a chill, not liking the atmosphere. He never did like hospitals. He hated it the last time he was here and he didn't feel like this time was going to convince him to do a 180. He shivered and slipped to the back of the group, wanting to be invisible. Why did he ever leave Helga's side?

Arnold frowned and looked around until he saw a desk and walked towards it. Gerald lagged behind, his steps like virtual lead, his eyes shifting as he looked over the coughing sick people, lips curling in a disgusted look. At the same time, his heart pounded because he saw Phoebe in each and every one of them: sick and dying. He shook off the premonition, nearly laughing at his own foolishness.

Chances are Phoebe was at her place or some other hangout... not here. Not at a hospital. It was stupid to even come here, Gerald thought. The chances of her... he didn't even finish his thought. Brainy, he glowered, had come up with the brilliant suggestion. He was still self-conscious about the boy seeing him in his bunny slippers and moreover seeing him in PLAID right now. Why was he even here?

Arnold didn't pay his best friend any mind as he tapped his fingers impatiently. The sooner they found Phoebe, the sooner he could get back home and wait by the phone. For what? Arnold didn't even know if he should rightly expect anything. It was just as well that he was on this wild goose chase than rotting away with dying hope. Arnold hated to admit it but Brainy was smart to come up with searching local parks, friends' houses, and lastly hospitals - hence the name: Brainy. _He_ could think outside of the box.. and maybe that's why.. maybe that's why he saved Helga before Arnold.

He frowned and waited for the woman to look up. She finally did with very tired eyes. He read the ID card: Amber.

"Uh, excuse me, Amber?" He cleared his throat. "Uh, we're looking to see if anyone was admitted lately.. A, uh, Phoebe Heyerdahl?"

The nurse looked back at the computer and typed a few words in and waited. "Are you family?"

"Yes," Arnold lied, feeling guilty and nervous. What if this woman found out he wasn't? He hated himself for being so self-conscious. What was he? Four? Someone's life might be at stake and he was worried about being caught for a little lie?

She narrowed her eyes, examining his face. Arnold tried to keep it as straight as possible when he felt someone beside him.

"We're her cousins on her _mom's_ side." Brainy smirked.

Amber still looked indecisive but then as she looked around at the barrage of people waiting decided it wasn't worth the hassle to investigate the very BAD liars' background. "Room 416."

Maybe it was the shock that they got away with it... or the fact that Phoebe was actually in the hospital... whatever it was, Arnold went pale and started to shake as the boys made their way to the elevators. Gerald was no better, trying to let reality hit him.

Why was she here, of all places? Why?

---------------------------

Helga was less than happy to see Gerald of all people come strolling past her. She didn't notice Arnold or Brainy in her rage.

"What are _you_ doing here."

Gerald sneered. "Free world, Pataki. Last time I checked anyways."

"Well, maybe you need another update." She got close to his face, body language begging for a confrontation.

"Maybe you need to get out of my face."

"Maybe you should just shove your-"

"Okay, okay, break it up," Arnold dove in doing what he did best: moderate. Helga gave him a glance before glaring at Gerald. Arnold in between the two only served a physical distance but even a passerby could see the fight going on in their eyes.

"Having your boyfriends do your fighting for you now?" She said, backing off. All the anger and tension wanted to explode - specifically at Gerald.

"I don't know - should I slit my wrists and cry?"

"Bite me."

"My mom told me not to eat sh-"

"Alright, shut up, we're forgetting why we're here." Arnold looked from Helga to Gerald. Brainy settled back amused with Rhonda. It was entertaining from the drama - and Brainy personally hadn't seen Helga this passionate in weeks.

Helga hardened her face more, eyes never leaving Gerald's. She shoved Arnold's hand from its place on her shoulder as if it was absolutely distasteful it even touched her. "Yeah. Why we're here. Do _you_ know, _Geraldo_?"

He looked almost like he would've lunged at her if it hadn't been for Arnold. Instead he pressed himself against his friend's hand. "Give up the nicknames, Helga. It was never cute."

"Who said I was trying to be cute?" She looked innocent - like the wolf that swallowed the lamb.

"I said _break it up_." Arnold gritted through his teeth. Helga held up her hands and gave another hateful glance at Gerald before leaning against the doorway. Gerald narrowed his eyes.

"Let me through."

She pretended not to hear him and looked at her nails. He tried to pass her by, but she pushed him back with a restrained force. "I want to see her!" He could tell all she wanted to do was throw him down the hallway. He wanted to bite her hand off.

"Frankly, you wanna know what **I **think?"

"No," he spat.

It was like any action he made would go unnoticed - at least by her. "I think you don't deserve to see her."

"Why not?"

"Do you even know what you did, you selfish dick?" She wasn't satisfied with his pause and continued. "You broke her fucking heart. You took the one thing she felt was the only reason why any guy would want her." She poked his chest - **hard.** "Give me one reason why I _shouldn't_ break your penis in half."

He frowned, wanting to argue back but felt silenced by her harsh words. He didn't want to acknowledge that he felt a rightful accusation in her words - and he didn't want to admit he did something wrong, that Arnold, Brainy, and now even _Helga_ were right. "How bad is she?" He whispered.

"**Bad**."

"Let me see her," he said quietly, the will to fight suddenly out of him. She scrunched her face as if she smelled something nauseating.

"Why should I-" and then she looked to right. Arnold was pulling on her arm with this pleading look on his face and she allowed herself to be taken away from the door frame. She shot a look over her shoulder, "If you make her worse-"

"Helga," Arnold cut in gently, and guided her away, hands possessively on her body. "Just relax. It'll be okay." But it wasn't just Helga that wanted to believe his words, but Arnold himself as he looked uncertainly at the door Gerald went into.

-------------

"Phoebe?" Gerald didn't recognize his voice as his own. It was distant, like in a dream. It wasn't him speaking; it was just someone that sounded like him.

Normally under the usual circumstances, Gerald would've taken advantage of a girl in bed. Who could resist his charms after all? He was the Casanova of Hill High - any girl would love to be in his arms, even for just one night. At least... that's what he had thought until Phoebe came along.

So instead of feeling aroused or infatuated that the object of his desire was alone in this room in this solitary white bed, he felt sick as he saw the small girl struggling to breathe. Her small wheezes sent a shudder down his back and the hairs on the nape of his neck stood up. He suddenly felt cold - too cold - and legs wanted to turn around and walk away - no, _run away_. He wanted to leave this sight and never think about it ever again.

But he walked forward, unable to feel his knees.

It was like a scene from a movie, and he was watching while stuffing himself with popcorn. She was just the dying actress - who would resurrect like the majestic phoenix for her next role - and he was the audience member. He was the ever-present fan, ready to cheer her on. She would never die in his eyes. Ever.

But she was. She _was_ dying. With every laborious breath, with every heavy rise and fall of her chest... she was dying.

He felt himself sit down in a chair beside the bed, chilled by the scene. It wasn't 24 hours ago that he was kissing her... and now she had a tube down her throat, helping her live.

He didn't know what to do except stare at her. Even now she was so beautiful, so fragile yet...

He reached and held her limp hand.

Gerald did something he never thought he'd let himself do: he allowed himself to love. Moreover, he allowed himself to fall in love with this broken sick angel.

She stirred and looked at him. His breath was caught in his throat. What should he do?

She made a move to speak. He put his finger on her lips. "Please don't speak."

Phoebe let out a sigh and blinked at him, her eyes puffy and red. He squeezed her hand, constantly afraid to break her. He wanted to talk to her, ask her so much - but at the same time just be silent and just sit with her. "You're gonna get better, Phoebe." He smiled, his eyes watering.

She smiled at him softly, knowing he wasn't telling the truth. He broke when he saw that smile. "Why did you leave...?"

There was so much unspoken between them that was said in those moments. She just stared at him, her head lopsided. He brushed hair out of her eyes and smoothed her black hair, touching her so gingerly with a purpose. The last time he touched her had been with passion; this time, he was determined to let her feel affection.

"You're so beautiful." She closed her eyes tightly. "I mean it. You are. You don't think you are, but you're so gorgeous... I," he paused, not knowing if he should continue or not. "I've always liked you. I mean, I know what I must seem like to you..." he cupped her cheek and was happy she leaned into it. He felt a wet tear behind his hand and could barely hold his own.

"I know I'm just some... playboy to you. I didn't know you..." he trailed off. "I didn't know it was your first time.. I would've made it so special. I would've done things so differently if I.. if it were different... I'm so sorry, Phoebe. God, I'm such an idiot, I didn't know what I..." He put his head in his hand. "I just, I want to start over. Can we do that?"

There was a long pause and she opened her eyes. Her onyx eyes were swimming - with joy or with sadness, he couldn't tell - he never could read eyes that well. He leaned in and put his head on her stomach.

"I meant it, you know."

"I know," she rasped, but he knew she didn't.

"I... love you."

And he only heard a flat line as his response. He closed his eyes and let himself go. He felt bodies around him pushing him off her - he was on a hard surface. All he really saw was his blurred version of the world. Then someone picked him up and shoved him against another hard surface. He let himself feel the pain... because he couldn't feel anything else.

-----------

"Are you _happy_?" Helga pushed Gerald against the wall, which he hung at. He didn't seem to register he was being attacked. "Are you_** fucking**_ happy now, _Geraldo_?" The name was said with such malice that Helga never thought she'd ever feel. "You fucking KILLED her. You killed Phoebe!" She screamed as she started to hit him.

But Helga knew that wasn't true. It was **her.**_ She_ was the straw that broke the camel's back, not Gerald. She pushed fragile Phoebe over the edge. It was her fault,_ all her fault_. And the more she realized this, the harder she hit Gerald until she felt restrained.

"Let me go, let me go, I'll kill him, I'll kill him for hurting her. **Let me go!**" Her vision was blurred from the tears and she kicked with her legs at the force keeping her down.

In the background she could barely hear the nurses and doctors as they tried to revive her best friend but she knew. She knew it was no use.

"I hate you," she cried. "I hate you. You killed her, you killed her! You killed Phoebe!" But she was looking at a mirror, at her own fuzzy reflection. "I _hate_ you." She felt the rage that Rhonda felt for the world when her sister was taken away.. the same rage that spurred her to hate the person that took her own sister away: herself.

"_Why_?!" she screamed. "WHY?!" And hung limp in the hold. "Why did you die? Why did you leave me alone?" But Helga knew so very well... that it wasn't Phoebe that abandoned Helga first, but rather vice versa. She left a long time ago to let Phoebe tend to the wolves while she absorbed herself in her own melodramas.

She arms around her, soft words trying to soothe and comfort her, trying to tell her the world was not ending, it wasn't broken, that it would be alright...

But it didn't matter now. Phoebe was dead, and there was nothing, not anybody, could do about it.

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**TBC...**

I apologize if anything in this chapter was wrong as far as grammar, consistency, or spelling. I'm frankly nervous I screwed up with this chapter.

**Okay. Let's get one thing straight:**

To be honest, I _didn't _want to kill off Phoebe. I really, really didn't. It was a total struggle and for a while there I was just going to have her as sick and then Phoebe and Gerald live happily ever after... but then I realized, "That's not realistic at all." And there was more to it.

For one, if Phoebe didn't die, then Gerald wouldn't _really _learn his lesson... and secondly, Helga needed something to_ spur_ her on since she was obviously slipping back into her old suicidal mentality. Phoebe's death accomplishes both things - as well creates this huge realistic factor and sympathic feel to the story. The saying goes, "you must kill your darlings." I feel really bad though.. she was a **great **character. So sad and tragic, so doomed, that I almost wish she had a chance at happiness that she never got. So I'd like to dedicate this chapter to her.

I _really_ poured some emotion into Rhonda. I honestly almost cried during that scene (but couldn't since I was at work). Instead, I just sobbed on my boyfriend's shoulder later. It's funny how much the written word can affect you.

Stay tuned for the next chapter.. more confrontations and a few fateful decisions.

I suddenly feel very depressed and must mourn the loss of my character. I wanted to add before I bid y'all a "sayonara" that I'm going to be doing a big **Q & A** at the END of the story - meaning when it's _all complete_,** so if you have any questions** - relating to the story, characters, plot, what I thought or anything like that - start submitting them **now**.

Seeya next Monday.

-Bunni Girl

p.s.

**Still looking for a beta-reader.**


	18. Interlude II: The Darkness Reprise

Dreams of Blue Skies

Interlude

-------

Unhappiness is everywhere.

The sooner we realize it, the sooner our pipe dreams are destroyed.

Fifty years ago, it was a distant dream to the public eye - now, all you have to do is open up your window blinds to see it.

The world is ending for everyone - at every time. Every two minutes a person jumps off a building or shoots up just a little too much into their veins. A person dies every .01 millisecond - and the world, while ending for them, still goes on.

We feel we are the light of life - the reason there is consciousness. Without us, there is no "us" or "them" or "you" or "me". There is just a blank. This blank that envelopes all of the cosmos without any regard to any other living creature - in the present, past, and future.

We are the unique flame - our own individual personalities simultaneously clashing and meshing to become the single song of perfection.

The rule is: if you die, the universe must and will stop.

If you are engulfed in a tragedy, be ready to expect shoulders to open up for you and you alone.

You are precious.

You are the life force.

But at the same time... you're aware at the acute farce you want to believe in.

You wake up in a world, so suddenly as if doused with cold water, to find that your prince charming is off far away - with his princess.

You are the foolish girl sleeping at the fireplace - only waiting - no... wishing for your moment in the spotlight. But it is just a dream. A dream faraway being lived by someone else who believes in risks and... herself.

The nightmare really is that you could die - and just be easily replaced.

You will not be missed.

No one will give you a moment's thought once you're in the ground, eaten slowly by worms.

There is no hope.

There is no serenity.

Only rage and despair are available.

You are a worker bee - a product of advertisement and commercialism, glittering to be a smiling waving unfeeling plastic toy. But there was a malfunction - a virus - and now you have been discarded, in favor of a newer more beautiful model.

You are alone - your closest is lost to you. Everywhere you go can't fill the hole that is gaping in you, aching to be closed. Instead, you sit on a bench and watch as everyone, EVERYONE, is nestled warm in a group.

And you're just there... this glitch in the system - not knowing what it feels like to trust someone.

And whatever you had before is gone. It was your fault, yes... your hands twitch because of the knowledge. If there was a way to strangle yourself, you would've done it by now.

However, life goes on. This has been proved over the years by you, by others. There will be a time when you'll look back on this day with regret, yes... but wisdom also. You need to survive, to exist... to get past this.

But why does it feel so hard?

Why can't you feel anything? Anything but rage and despair at your situation? Why can't you think of anyone else? What's wrong with you?

Why can't everyone think about you? Just once? Just for fucking once, just push aside the pretty girls and see you for who you really are?

You've always been alone. Always.

This is what Helga thought as they put the sheet over Phoebe's face.

That she was always alone... and always will be.

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If you guys want to be alerted when I have updates, but don't want to sign up for that Fanfiction Story Alert thing... just put down your email addresses as anonymous reviewers. Thanks and sorry for the late update but my health is going down the toilet.


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